Potter vs Paradox
by Belial666
Summary: The Girl-Who-Lived won; Magical Britain never recovered. As their world grows closer to another war, the surviving DA members concoct an elaborate plan that will see Iris Potter back in time to guide her younger self and prevent the war from ever happening. Fate however has other plans. GWL BWL, dark!Harry, timetravel, canon magic.
1. A perfect plan

**Lots of excellent Time-Travel stories on this site; decided to try my hand in one of my own. Starting point is a dystopian future where the aftermath of two civil wars in magical Britain is not all roses and rainbows as per canon - one of the less believable points in the original books in my opinion. Magic in this story is going to be mostly canon-compliant and heavily used. Last major point is that the story is going to have more than one 'Harry' and will try for realistic challenges and obstacles for our protagonist - not that she's going to have an easy day of it! First chapter is up, second chapter will be tommorow or later today - enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I am not JK Rowling. This story is free and written for my and your enjoyment only. Anyone who checks the abysmal balance of my bank account should see that clearly. :)**

 **...**

It was supposed to have been an easy arrest. Things turned a bit more interesting when the Anti-Disapparition Jinx went up.

The Head Auror, excited trainees in tow, had arrived in the abandoned industrial zone a few minutes ago via Apparition. Not only was a milk run an excellent opportunity for some hands-on training, but the series of crumbling brick warehouses, rusting metal towers, the overgrown scrapyard and piles of rubble that used to be industrial buildings half a century ago were a perfect location for a bunch of overeager Defense prodigies less than a year out of Hogwarts to cut loose without worrying about civilian or even muggle casualties. All of that had changed when a familiar dome of subtle but strong magic had fallen over the area.

"What are we gonna do, Boss?" Mandy Bones asked, brown eyes gleaming with suppressed excitement, worry, and a bit of magic. Unlike their instructor who, like Dumbledore before her, had mastered that particular magic after repeated use, the trainees still needed both wand and incantation for the Magic-Revealing Charm. Fortunately, their training demanded they cast it before every session and trying to keep it up for the duration. That was what had Mandy worried; she, too had seen and recognized the effect.

"You are going to stay behind me and do your best to defend yourselves. You need several wizards - or someone exceptionally powerful - to prevent Apparition in that large an area and you are still trainees: you are not to engage them directly unless you absolutely have to." With a flick of her wand she cast the Presence-Revealing Charm. Unlike Dumbledore she'd not yet fully mastered it but it was still extremely useful. Disguises, Transfiguration, secrecy charms, glamours, invisibility, physical cover; none of them would prevent it from showing her where the welcoming committe was hiding, not even her own fabled Cloak. What she didn't expect was over a dozen individuals slowly moving in place to surround them. "Oh and Mandy?"

"Yes, Boss?" Asked the senior trainee.

"Remind me to kill Mundungus Fletcher when we get out of this." She flicked her wand repeatedly and whispered. The incantations were not strictly necessary but it would tell the trainees what she was doing if they were paying attention. This was, after all, still a lesson.

 _Prohibeo Apparitum!_ _Prohibeo Volatum!_ _Prohibeo Focum!_ _Prohibeo Portum!_

A wider and stronger dome appeared over the one the criminals had erected in her augmented senses. The wizards and witches moving to surround them did not react; they must not have been using any revealing spells. Idiots. Constant vigilance was the most important part of both Auror and criminal business and ensured you wouldn't find yourself suddenly unable to apparate, fly through most means, make use of a fireplace for either making food or accessing the Floo network, and traveling via Portkey, while your enemies had you where they wanted.

Five of the approaching witches and wizards revealed themselves to draw the eye, while the remaining eight approached under cover from the opposite direction. The criminals were all dressed in concealing robes and hoods - black of course - and wore face-concealing masks. She had no idea if it was intentional, but the getup brought up memories of over twenty years ago. The taller figure in the middle - obviously their leader - spoke up as he threateningly brandished his wand, a modified Sonorus Charm blanketing the area with a voice turned unnaturally deep and harsh.

"Why, if it isn't Iris Potter. The Ministry's biggest and baddest mad dog." His companions laughed; she only sighed. Much as she'd like to get this over with, she had to engage in an exchange of so-called witticisms until the rest of the criminals made an appearance so she'd have a reason to arrest them. Besides, grandstanding was a time-honored tradition as Ron always reminded her.

"Are you sure you want to do this, gentlemen? After all, it's only five against one; a bit unfair for you, don't you think?"

"What, the little trainee dogs won't be joining us?" More laughter. She grabbed Finnigan's wand arm before the lad could do something stupid, pushed him back towards the others, then nodded at Mandy. The youngest Bones knew enough to keep the other trainees out of trouble but just in case... A flick of her wand turned a pile of debris into a red-hot liquid flowing into a dome over her charges. Magically cooled into six inches of crude glass, it then briefly flashed several different colors before settling into a faintly glowing green. An inanimate object could block many curses since they only worked against the living - Unforgivables included. Spell it to prevent from being moved, reshaped, or its nature from being altered, and you had a near-perfect barrier. Despite two decades of experimentation though, she'd still not managed to make the shield permeable based on intent, or to replenish its physical anchor on command.

"No, they won't. You only get me; can the five of you handle me, big guy?" She hoped the dome was too thick for sound to go through and that none of the trainees had thought to cast a Supersensory Charm; she'd never live this down if word got back to Ron and the other senior Aurors.

"Oh, I believe we'll manage." The leader made a complicated gesture - obviously a signal of some sort - and all Hell broke loose.

REDUCTO!

Thirteen voices cast the curse in unison, from several directions at once. They were answered by a flick of her wand and dozens upon dozens of foot-wide iron spheres appearing from thin air. Back in her third year in Hogwarts, she'd seen Dumbledore conjure six hundred objects at once. Her own record still stood at slightly under two thirds of her old mentor's but they'd do - especially after she put all her will and power into her next spell and cast.

OPPUGNO!

Under the direction of the Offensive Animation Jinx, the iron spheres became Bludgers. Thirteen had been disintegrated blocking her foes' careless offense but the rest launched themselves at the criminals. Some were blasted apart by blasting curses, others were vanished or transficured into harmless forms. A half-dozen single target spells wasted themselves against a single sphere each. Then the criminals' time run out. Two of them failed to pull off any useful defense in time and fell under multiple hits. Five more tried to Disapparate in the belief they were keyed into the only Anti-Disapparation Jinx covering the area: those too collapsed under the onslaught. The remaining criminals managed some credible defensive spells and everyone within a couple of miles heard the cacophony produced by dozens of iron spheres smashing into immovable barriers at speeds matching those of a racing broom.

 _Avada Kedavra!_

The neon-green bolt of the Killing Curse went through several spheres, ending their conjuration as it sought to end her life. She flicked her wand and a medieval shield made of silvery metal appeared in its path. Surprise and confusion replaced gleeful expectation in the visible lower half of the enemy leader's face as his curse splashed against the shield with the sound of a giant's hammer hitting a gong.

"How..?" he shouted, cheated of an apparently easy kill.

"Tsk. Tsk. Kids playing with Dark Magic at your age." _Portus! Portus!_ Her first whispered spell took her right behind him unhindered by his Anti-Disapparation Jinx and keyed to her own lockdown enchantments. The second broke through his shield and made him vanish before his companions' disbelieving eyes. He'd reappear in a magically fortified holding cell where _Finite_ -traps would automatically strip him of active spells and a few whiffs of the sleeping-gas-laced air would knock him out until the duty Auror could process him.

 _Crucio! Avada Kedavra! Ossium Reducto! Confringo! Imperio!_

 _Portus! Portus!_

Repositioning the silver shield to block the dangerous Unforgivables, she stopped the Bone-Shattering and Blasting curses with her own defensive spell and returned fire. The Imperius she let land, then ignored. Doing the 'impossible' was the best way to break enemy morale, finish the fight early, and prevent loss of life or collateral damage. One of the remaining criminals had excellent reflexes though, dodging her attempts to make his own clothes into a portkey. Sighing again, she turned her wand a full circle and put a lot of power into the spell.

FINITE INCANTATEM!

Every iron sphere within thirty yards flickered out of existence. So did the criminals' Shield Charms. Unfortunately for them, a good quarter of the spheres had been beyond the range of her general counterspell and by the time they realized what she'd done, they were already going down. A few flicks of her wand later saw the remaining spheres vanish, the silver shield return to everywhere she'd retrieved it from, and the criminals' wands collected and secured. Walking back to the glowing green dome, she dismissed the enchantments and vanished it too.

"We're done here." She said to the trainees. "Tie them up and prepare them for transfer back to HQ."

"Already?" Finnigan asked, his incredulity increasing when he noticed the number of downed opponents. "Where did those come from? They were only five half a minute ago!"

Leaving it up to Mandy to correct the boy's misconceptions, she prepared for another busy evening in the office. The hardest part of apprehending criminals was the paperwork, not the fight. One only had to compare the time required - thirty seconds versus three hours was a generous estimate - to know it was true.

 **...**

 _"Level Nine: Department of Mysteries"_

Twenty-year-long campaigns to revolutionize Wizarding Britain and magical maintenance still had not changed the operator's voice for the Ministry's elevator. Maybe it was because two thirds of the ministry's employees still liked the pleasant female voice. Shaking her head, Iris got out and into the Hall of Doors. More memories of simpler, perhaps happier times surfaced. Before the defense mechanism could trigger, she flicked her wand and cast.

 _Immobulous!_

Revolving doors were annoying - an entire revolving room moreso. No thank you! Picking the second door on her left, she pushed it open and entered what had once been the Time Room. No bell jars with perpetually reborn birds in them were in evidence, no cabinets full of Time-Turners, to clocks and watches of every type and size ticking away the seconds, minutes, hours, and years as she remembered. The entire chamber had been reformed into a simple oval of bare rock, entirely empty of any furniture or items of any kind. The only interesting thing in it was the floor, countless lines of runes and arithmantic symbols forming a complex tapestry beyond her understanding.

"Finally!" A forty-something witch with bushy brown hair and majestic robes of royal blue said. "What took you so long? We sent the message hours ago!" The other occupants in the room shifted uncertainly at Hermione's tone. Even after three decades of friendly coexistence, the two of them could occasionally slip into rows of epic proportions due to clashing personalities - and their closest friends knew it well. The tall, gangly redhead in the crimson Auror's cloak whispered calming words with some urgency; Ron was the only one of them who could avert disaster when the two people with the most pressing and unforgiving jobs out of their little group felt like blowing off some steam. The prematurely greying blonde witch on Ron's right and Iris' nominal superior winked at her but said nothing. Susan's position as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was almost as unforgiving as her own these days - hence the grey hair - but she always had a ready smile and took on every challenge with seemingly endless patience. Out of all of them she'd changed the most since the War. The tall man in the formal robes of a Hogwarts Professor with the worn, many-patched, ancient-looking hat on his head made her do a double take. Neville had a solemn expression - as well he should, wearing the Sorting Hat outside Hogwarts! But that meant...

"Hello Iris. Fancy meeting you here tonight." The slim platinum-blonde's sudden appearance at her side almost made her jump. Even more than Ollivander, Luna Lovegood was the only witch who could turn up without Iris' senses and spells warning her.

"Luna!" She groaned in exasperation, lowering her wand. "Don't do that! I almost cursed you!"

"You wouldn't have, and didn't, so all is well." The younger witch said with a smile in her inimitable way. "Are you ready then?"

"Ready for what? Hermione did not tell me." She played for time, trying to get her thoughts in order.

"You know better than that, Iris Potter." The strange Seer said evenly. "Your best friend has done her best in the position left to her but even the smartest of us cannot hold disaster back for another seven years. You have seen the signs, have you not? Almost daily now you have to show the flag, and the intervals are growing smaller."

Iris supposed she did. Everyone expected things to get better after the War had been won - and for a time, they did. The first problems arose almost immediately though. She, Hermione, and Ron had broken into Gringotts very destructively and very publically. The goblins had never forgiven that breach of the treaty and their sovereignty and had caused the Ministry no end of trouble ever since. Then, came the trials and convictions of the old pureblood families. Revolutions were not clean things; removing over half of the old ruling class from power caused even more problems, made worse since said ruling class held the majority of Wizarding Britain's finances under their control. Added to the enmity of the goblins, and the collapse of many businesses during the War, the economic backlash had been disastrous. It took over a decade for stability to return, and by then the British Wizarding economy had taken a lot of hits.

But even bigger problems arose after things calmed down. Britain was far from the only Wizarding government that had been ruled by the old noble families. As with the muggle French Revolution over two centuries earlier, the newly rebuilt Ministry saw several pureblood-controlled foreign governments banding against it. Not openly and violently - the ICW prevented at least that much - but the political and economic pressure was bad enough. The influx of refugees made an already bad situation all but unsalvageable. Oppressed for centuries by said governments, second-class citizens such as muggleborns, werewolves, and part-humans flooded into Wizarding Britain by the thousands. Despite the hopes of many people like Hermione and Iris herself though, that was not a good thing. For one thing, the majority of those second-class citizens had never received a full education and found it hard to contribute to the country's economy. For another, requirements such as the werewolves' need for Wolfsbane potion were a drain in an economy devastated by two major conflicts in recent decades and effectively blockaded by once reliable trade partners. Last but not least, a significant minority of such refugees had had to resort to criminal activities back in their own countries, and saw no option but to continue so in their new home. Iris had had to "show the flag" as Luna called it, apprehending criminals, breaking up shady organizations, and beating would-be Dark Lords almost continuously in the past decade and a half, merely to keep the country together and the peace restored. But with every act of aggression, those parts of the population turned more and more against the Ministry - hence the trap the supposedly reliable info by Mundungus Fletcher had sent them into.

"We're ready, Iris." Hermione said tiredly, carving the last few details of the enormous runic array. The recently elected Minister of Magic did not look good; she had dark circles under her eyes, her skin was pale, even sported a few grey hair at the extremely young age of forty-three, for a witch of her power.

"Are you sure about this?" Iris asked her second oldest friend. "You told me yourself that my being forty-nine, seven times seven years old, would be our best chance to..."

"Iris, we have no time!" Hermione's composure almost broke; the whole situation had her friend near tears. "I can hold the Ministry together for another year, maybe. Do you want to fight another war? One against muggleborns and part-human immigrants this time?"

"She's right you know." Neville said as he offered the Sorting Hat to her. "Chosen ones the both of us and we'd already failed by the time we won the War."

"No, Neville." She eyed the Hat apprehensively. What they were about to do was as close to insane as any stunt she'd pulled during the War - or since. "How many galleons are you sending with me, by the way?"

"None." Luna piped in from behind her. At her gobsmacked expression, the strange Seer smiled. "Wizarding currency is marked with serial numbers, silly. You can't take them in the past or the goblins -and any wizard who knows his numbers- would know."

"We've amassed some gold and gems." Hermione said, finally calm. She pointed at the familiar seven-lock trunk at the center of the room. "Filled the entire first compartment, even with the improved Extension Charms. Liquidating the Black and Potter fortunes you weren't using, along with those of extinct families that passed to the Ministry, took a couple of years but was ready in time, thank Merlin." Finances were far from Iris' strong point but even so she had at least some idea how much wealth she'd be carrying with her.

"What about the other seven compartments?" She asked, wanting to know how much of their preparations they'd finished on short notice.

"Don't worry." Susan said. "Compartments two and three are full of anything we've confiscated over the past few years that might prove useful. The full list is included, seeing as planning and thinking ahead were never your greatest strengths." The blonde finished with another smile. She should know; she'd taken control of the DMLE after Hermione was elected Minister because Iris had absolutely refused to be promoted into a desk job.

"Compartment four is all the potions and ingredients Hagrid, Professor Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey and I could come up with." Neville interjected. "Number five contains copies of the more useful books in the Hogwarts library. Had to Confund Madam Pince daily for a month to get them."

"Number six contains the Ministry records and archives that might help. The last compartment is still empty though." Hermione finished. Then she caught Iris totally by surprise with a deep hug, one the surviving members of the DA minus Ginny soon joined. As she was given a very warm farewell by everyone, her best friend's hands gripped hers firmly and pressed something unyielding and full of hard edges into her palm. As soon as she'd picked it up, Iris felt the wand she'd been using for the past fifteen years and the family cloak in her pocket vibrate in response. "You never know what you might need where you're going." Hermione whispered in her ear. "And it would be good to no longer carry the burden I picked up in our last Occlumency lesson so many years ago."

"Are you sure about this, everyone?" Iris said as she looked them all in the eye before turning to Neville and the Sorting Hat. "We... we don't really know what will happen."

"Better you than me, mate!" Ron said with a shudder. "'Least you got some experience with this. That and I ain't the Girl-Who-Conquered; I'm a bloke."

"Colorful as always, Ron." His wife said with exasperation. "Don't listen to him, Iris. We know exactly what will happen. I got it all worked out right here." She handed on to her a massive handwritten tome full of arithmantic calculations and predicted results who luckily was under a permanent Featherlight Charm and could be resized on command. "With enough stabilizing charms and runes the Hour-Reversal Charm is perfectly safe. The Unspeakables back in 1900s only managed five-hour integrity seals because they were trying for a portable device. That, and they didn't go for over a decade of preparation for a single trip." She indicated the intricate runic patterns covering the entire floor of the room around them with a measure of satisfaction that comes from achieving a seemingly impossible goal.

Shaking her head at how little any of them had changed since their school years at their core, Iris extended her hand into the Sorting Hat. A moment later, the hard, cold, weight of metal pressed against her grip. With a practiced motion, she drew the Sword of Gryffindor; the final proof that they were on the right path, that the Sorting Hat believed their need both noble and attainable and had decided to help them. Exhaling both in relief and trepidation, she placed the Sword in the custom sheath made for it in her belt and turned towards the center of the room. There was only one thing left to do; for her to cast the Hour-Reversal Charm in the center of the room. In many ways, that still was the one thing she'd serious reservations about. Hermione had always been better at Charms; Iris' best subjects had always been Defense, closely followed by Transfiguration. But for her to travel back in time, save her older self from her destiny and avert a war, she had to cast the most powerful and difficult known Charm correctly on her own.

"Don't worry, Iris Potter." Luna said with a dreamy expression and an odd lilt in her voice - the same one she always had when seeing things other did not. "You should survive the process. Just remember to enjoy it, too." And with that alarming farewell, the strange Seer pushed her into the center of the room and nodded supportively. The rest of her friends retreated to the edges of the room, beyond the boundaries of the massive runic design meant to stabilize a single spell, and soon Luna followed them as well. With nothing more to delay her but trepidation, she lifted the Elder Wand in the air and cast.

TEMPUS FUGIT!

 **...**

The whirlwind of magical energies dissipated and Iris Potter collapsed upon the muddy pavement on the edge of an empty street at night. Bridging the gap of six times six years had felt like living through them all again, in reverse, half a dozen times. No wonder poor Eloise Mintumble had aged five centuries and perished after the shock of bridging a gap several times her own lifetime. It had been the primary reason of Hermione's insistence on not sending her back before the first war; if she traveled back to before her own birth, who knew what might happen.

Not that she felt much better now: her entire body felt as if she'd been beaten to within an inch of her life... then dropped onto the street from a high-altitude broom... then run over by a truck. In fact, said truck was still squeezing her to death. When pushing frantically against the enormous weight and trying to find the Elder Wand who'd slipped from her rand proved fruitless, she threw a wandless banishing charm... only to gasp as it was reflected straight back at her. Who in their right mind enchanted trucks with defensive magic?

It took another two minutes to overthrow the crushing weight through main force but by then her vision was dark at the edges and her limbs refused to move any further. The Elder Wand was only a foot or two away from her reach and she could do nothing to get it; she couldn't even focus enough for wandless levitation. It took another minute to realize the 'enormous weight' had been not a truck but her own trunk, and that her robes were several sizes too large for her; the shock from that sent her straight into unconsciousness...

 **...**

The night of July 31st 1986 several Ministry officials lost their sleep as The Trace registered several massive bouts of apparently accidental magic in Godric's Hollow, West Country, England. Friday the 1st of August only lasted twenty hours, while Saturday the 2nd lasted thirty-seven. Living through them with no magical senses, the altered days failed to register in Muggle perception despite the countless dating errors they caused. Only a few powerful wizards and the rare magical creature with prophetic abilities recognized the magical effect as temporal backlash of major time-travel and nobody connected it to the sudden appearance of a single young witch in England. Accusations were thrown around in several emergency meetings of the International Confederation of Wizards but nothing came of them for many years...


	2. A perfect mess

**Chapter two, and just how much Fate has it in for our intrepid heroine is about to become evident.**

 **Traveling back in time can be a liiiittle difficult on the traveler at times, you know? :)**

 **...**

"Bloody Hell!"

Iris' unnaturally high-pitched swearing was yet another sign that things had not gone as expected. The Department of Mysteries had had several documented attempts at unstable time-travel with the temporal backlash in them taking many forms, from premature aging of the traveler, to people being unborn - erased from the timeline, to changes into Time itself as the length of days and the events that happened in them were adversely affected. Hermione had tried to account for all of them in her stabilization runes or other preparation and while Luna had warned them some effects could not be accurately predicted, Iris had never expected to become three feet tall.

The effort of throwing off her own trunk and the aftereffects of her jump had knocked her out for several hours. Even when she'd woken up in the dark hours before dawn to find the street still empty and herself not run over by a passing car or mugged by muggles, she was far from fully recovered. Time however waited for no witch. Retrieving the Elder Wand, she unlocked her trunk and pointed it at the full compartment before her.

 _"Accio Polyjuice mark twelve!"_

A tiny bottle floated out of the trunk and landed on her hand. She set it carefully on the ground before returning it to its original size: lifting forty pounds was probably beyond her current condition. Iris and her friends had prepared against many things; the possibility of her aging prematurely due to the time travel being one of them. Becoming sixty-eight years old would have barely been a hindrance to a witch of her power though, as magic slowed aging. Dumbledore could duel Voldemort at well over a hundred, some of the members of the Wizarding Examination Authority were still fairly active at the end of their second century, and old Headmaster Dippet had died at well over three hundred years old. The potion bottle before her, containing a hundred twelve-hour doses of Polyjuice, was for special circumstances; being deaged three and a half decades certainly counted as one. Moving carefully so as not to trip on her own too-large robes, she took a sip.

For once, the potion didn't seem horrible at all to her. The taste of the dark green liquid was sweet, light, and refreshing, and the transformation that followed was not at all uncomfortable. Within moments, she was back in her normal body and age; Hermione's suggestion of adding hair to the potion from before her time-travel so she had a means to temporarily restore herself if needed had worked. The aches in her body hardly seemed a burden in her older, fitter, fully-grown frame, and the fog of anger, fear, doubt, and other uncontrolled emotions had lifted from her mind... which allowed her to realise just how many mistakes she'd made.

"Damn..."

Returning the potion bottle to its place in storage, she lifted her trunk and walked off the street. Such a simple thing, getting out of the way so as not to be run over by a speeding muggle, and yet she hadn't considered it a priority in her younger state. That blunder was nothing, however, compared to her free use of magic. Since she'd become younger, the Trace could now detect her spells... and inform the Ministry. They would only get limited information - what magic was used and where - but she could still give herself away if she wasn't careful. The Ministry would be on her faster than a Skrewt on an unsuspecting victim if a supposedly underage individual started showing post-NEWT magical abilities. That alone scrapped a good half of the plan entirely.

No saving younger-Iris from the Dursleys. No early Horcrux hunt. No using wealth from the future to influence politics. No contacting people to make allies and expose Death Eaters. Certainly not working with Dumbledore. In every one of those cases, being a six-year-old posed insurmountable obstacles, especially the last one. For all that he was a great wizard doing his best for Britain and the world, Dumbledore had major flaws too. Where he'd have respected and probably worked with a powerful witch from the future, he couldn't help but try to "protect" a young girl for her own good... by making all the decisions himself.

What was she going to do?

 **...**

The young boy huffed and puffed in the early August heat, but the weeding machine remained stubbornly immobile. He tried his best but the handle was too awkward for him, the machine too heavy. But he had to finish mowing the lawn before _they_ returned. If he didn't it would be hell to...

WHAM!

A pudgy fist swung from behind landed right on his left ear, knocking him down and very nearly out. In his frustration at being unable to work the weeding machine, he'd missed Dudley sneaking on him. Though "sneaking" was a relative term when applied to his cousin: Dudley was stealthy only in comparison to a herd of elephants.

"Come on you Freak!" Dudley mocked. "You can't even mow the lawn? You're totally useless!"

Dudley often said (and did) hurtful things like that. Why? He was his cousin! Shouldn't he be, you know, friendlier? Maybe his cousin was right though. He was a scrawny, short, weak boy. Compared to Dudley he was positively tiny, but just about any kid his age was bigger, too - even the girls. Maybe he really was a Freak. Maybe that was why Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been making him do all those chores during the past year: to toughen him up. If that was true, then their plan was not working. He hadn't grown any faster over the past year: if anything, he'd become even more freakishly thin.

"No answer, Freak?" Dudley's patience with his cousin's silence had run out so he kicked him while he was still down. It hurt. "Maybe that last hit knocked off what remained of your brain from your empty skull."

"Boys!" A woman's voice called out. "No need to fight like that! You're cousins, are you not?"

Both he and Dudley turned towards the newcomer. Slim and athletic, long black hair matching her strange attire in color, pale skin, a narrow face both beautiful and hard, with piercing green eyes staring down at them. She could be any age from twenty to fifty: her face and body seemed young, but her severe expression and, above all, her eyes seemed much older. Suddenly aware of the mud and cut grass covering him, he tried to surreptitiously wipe his hands on his too-large jeans. The woman noticed and while her smile remained, it somehow seemed a bit more dangerous. Somehow, he was certain not many things escaped the newcomer's attention. With her sharp eyes, determined expression, leather boots and gloves, black... trenchcoat was it? She looked like a Sheriff from those old westerns Dudley occasionally watched on the telly. The ones he only saw from the corner of his eye while washing the dishes in the kitchen. Had she come for him? His aunt and uncle always said he was a Freak...

"Dudley is it?" His cousin nodded eagerly when he saw the chocolate bar that had suddenly appeared in her hands. "Why don't you take this and go watch your favorite programme in the telly? I need to have a... private word with your cousin. Lock the door, too." Throwing him only a backwards glance and a nasty smirk, Dudley disappeared into the house with his prize. Turning back at the woman, he saw no chocolate bar waiting for him and his last hopes for this unexpected encounter died unlamented. There would be no prize for him from the Sheriff, only punishment.

"What is your name, child?" She asked as soon as Dudley had disappeared. He was surprised by the gentleness in her voice, her softening expression all but inviting him to pour all his troubles and problems out to her.

"Harry, ma'am." He replied uncertainly. He was no longer sure what this encounter was all about.

"And your surname, lad?" She smiled warmly at him and Harry felt a great weight lifting from his shoulders.

"I dunno, ma'am." He answered with chargin. Disappointing the first person he'd ever met who appeared to care about him wasn't something he wanted to repeat. "The Dursleys never told me, see."

"Oh, I do." She whispered, her expression hardening again. "Believe me, I do." Then gentleness returned, sharp features relaxing into something beautiful - or at least far better looking than Aunt Petunia. "Look into my eyes, Harry, and try to relax. This will only take a minute."

Not knowing how to respond to that, Harry did as he was told. He lost himself in those emerald orbs, his entire life seemingly flashing before his own eyes. Every day, every moment, all that he remembered of the past five years. In the end of it all, he was shaking... he'd have fallen down except for a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"And now I do see, Harry." The strange woman said. "Worry not, things will get better. Here."

Still unsteady, it took a couple of minutes for him to notice she was offering something to him - a book! It looked think and heavy, bigger than any books he'd ever seen, but also new and in a perfect condition. Its off-white pages felt thicker and coarser than paper, and every one of them was filled with neat, elaborate handwriting from a hand he didn't recognize. He only glimpsed the first chapter's title before the woman called for his attention. It read "Strange and Inexplicable Events and How to Control Them". That was peculiar...

"The book is for you, Harry. Now this package..." She pointed at a paper-wrapped box at her feet that was even larger than the book. "This is for your aunt and uncle. Make sure you give it to them before they get into the house, OK?"

"All right." Harry said, understanding that something strange was going on. "What if they ask me about the book?"

"They won't." She said with a small smile. "None of the Dursleys or neighbors will notice it. In fact, as long as you're holding it they won't notice you either. Make sure you don't have it on you when you're trying to give them the package, OK?"

"OK." Harry said, totally confused. A book that could hide from the Dursleys - that could hide _him_ from the Dursleys - sounded too good to be true. But maybe, just maybe, it was true? Inexplicable things had happened to him once or twice, after all. His aunt and uncle called them freakish but he wasn't so sure. Maybe with that book he could... wait!

Where had the nice lady disappeared to?

 **...**

Iris retreated under the Cloak of Invisibility to the nearest dumpster and promptly lost the hasty breakfast she'd had earlier in the morning.

Over the past week she'd been preparing for a meeting with her younger self. While any plans to take young-Iris away from Number 4 Privet Drive had to be abandoned - as a six year old she'd have a hard time supporting herself, let alone another child - she couldn't allow the Dursleys to ruin her other self's childhood again. Thus she'd taken several steps to prevent it. First and foremost, she'd written down some helpful directions in a magical, ever-expanding notebook. Using the same self-inking dictaquill she'd once used to write her reports, writing the equivalent to a large book had only taken the four days needed to dictate it to the quill. Directions for exercises in controlling accidental magic, directions for becoming more physically fit and healthy, simple lessons in language and mathematics that were more geared towards usefulness in the magical world than the mundane. And then the stories - history and information on Wizarding Britain given as children's tales a young kid would read and memorise without really knowing what they were.

Living a few hours each day under Polyjuice was jarring. For one thing, her younger self heavily impacted her emotions and thoughts, and that influence was not entirely countered by turning into her older self. Memory, skill, a character evolved over forty-two years of experiences, all those things were still part of her mind but they were no longer alone. Emotions and thought processes were greatly affected by physical changes, especially biological maturity. Even with the help of Occlumency, she could be as clear and focused as her adult self while having the body of a six-year-old about as easily as she could after consuming a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Nowhere was this more evident than in her uses of magic. She was unsure how morphing into her older self would affect the Trace - she suspected it wouldn't hide her magical activity at all - but there were some things she simply had to cast spells for. So she'd decided to do so inside her trunk's one empty compartment; if Undetectable Extension Charms could hide Moody from the Marauder's Map for a year and resist being ended by the Thief's Downfall when both the Imperius Curse and Polyjuice Potion did not, she'd bet on them against the Trace. When she'd tried to cast the defensive enchantments to make the book she'd give her younger self nigh-indestructible however, she found she needed to work a lot harder on her focus. There was no problem with the power of her spells but controlling the exact outcome or even targeting was another matter. That her younger body often failed to perform actions she'd long since considered routine and automatic was an even worse issue; memorized wand movements, pronounciation of the stranger incantations, even the way she walked and balanced were heavily impaired unless she consciously and intensely focused on them. Not only her younger body had never experienced and learned to perform those actions, but the magically retained memories of most of her experiences referred to an adult body that functioned differently in just about everything. She suspected that without Occlumency she'd have quickly reverted to a six year old mentally, not only physically, because only magical preservation could keep her mind largely intact in a body and brain that had not adapted and grown to it.

After hours of trial and error (mostly error plus several magical mishaps), she'd finally protected the book from anything the Dursleys or even most wizards could do to it. Then she'd enchanted it with a powerful Muggle-Repelling charm that would make it entirely unnoticeable by anyone without magic, and partially conceal anyone holding or standing too close to it as well. Another binding linked it to a second notebook still in her possession so anything written in it would immediately transfer to Harry's copy. That way more "stories" and lessons could be added over time. Last but not least, an enchantment that would return the book to the rightful owner - either Harry or herself - if it was ever removed by outside interference. That had been the hardest for her to cast, and would have been beyond her abilities if it relied on Charms. Fortunately, it was a variation of the same vanishing/conjuring trick that linked the Sword of Gryffindor to the Sorting Hat: Transfiguration being one of her strongest skills, she'd barely managed it... after accidentally vanishing all her clothes on one occasion, while somehow sending herself all the way to Kent in another and having to return via Muggle means since Apparition was both tracked by the Ministry and dangerous for her situation. At least she'd been lucky enough the two mishaps had not been concurrent; that would have been awkward to explain to either muggle or wizarding authorities.

 **...**

A day of observing Privet Drive under the Cloak of Invisibility had followed. It had taken her so long to finally approach the house at Number 4 not because of caution but due to shock. Only the bloody Girl-Who-Conquered could be unlucky enough to travel back in time to help her younger self, only to find said younger self changed into a boy due to temporal backlash. At least it hadn't been worse and some version of her still existed: she could just as easily been unborn - though why she remained female when her younger self had changed was anybody's guess. Temporal mechanics were a full Arithmancer's job. She'd leave them to Luna or Hermione - they just gave her (and most rational people) a headache.

That day of observation had revealed a few more changes. Her own childhood memories were about mostly psychological and emotional abuse. Harry, possibly because he was a boy, was being abused more physically than psychologically or mentally. It was every bit as disgusting though, and after seeing how much worse the little boy had it where beatings and physical labor were concerned, it took all of her newly-weakened self-control not to burn both the Dursley's house and Mrs. Figg's to the ground with judicious application of Fiendfyre. Only the potential danger to Harry and Dumbledore's unpredictable response to it held her back.

It took her a few hours, but an alternative path of revenge opened up. Several doses of pre-prepared Polyjuice, a visit to a nearby farm for some blood from a living pig, a chocolate bar with its caramel filling vanished, an extension charm applied to the cavity, and a Compulsion to eat it all. The prank sweets the Weasley Twins had invented so many years in her past (and Harry's future) were not meant to harm: they only lasted for an hour at most. But Polyjuice with the essence of an animal? Even the inexpert brew they'd used in their second year had put Hermione into the Hogwarts infirmary for a month. Without magical help and with a stronger potion, Dudley would remain a half-pig permanently. And that was exactly what she'd threatened the Dursleys with in the package she'd left for them.

The dire warning not to harm Harry ever again would be taken more seriously with the consequences for disregarding it made obvious to them. Even worse, she'd left them mandrake extract and instructions into how to treat their precious little whale-pig. Unless they could contact a wizard willing to help them, they'd have to read about and use magic themselves for months; only a potion perhaps, but still magical. Last but not least, the carrot along with the stick; she'd left them a hundred thousand pounds for their own use, and just as many to be used on Harry - with more warnings that she'd know if they failed to give Harry a better life, and that her next visit would not be nearly as pleasant.

Looking through Harry's memories with Legilimency was what had had her emptying her stomach in a dustbin. The boy might only see a year's worth of active abuse, but she'd seen and recognized just how bad the neglect had been over the past five years. Her own childhood memories were largely gone and all that remained was hazy unless recalled with magic. To have a front-row seat to a similar childhood of abuse seen with an adult's understanding coupled with her new emotional instability had almost made her decide to curse the Dursleys with something far worse once again. Even if she kept those new memories out of her Occlumency attempts to retain her past, it would take years for them to fade - and she couldn't memory charm half a decade's worth of events out of her mind without damaging it.

Not wishing to remain in Privet Drive a moment longer, she briskly walked - almost ran - back to her concealed trunk and the broomstick hidden in one of the compartments. The horrors she had to face were far from over. Privet Drive was a cakewalk before the next part of her new plan, one other thing she'd decided she'd do no matter what. She had no idea how badly her situation affected her judgement but there was no way she'd leave this part of the plan for even a few days later. She owed it to quite a few people to see it done as soon as possible.

It was time for a little visit to Azkaban.


	3. A perfect escape

**MrSoAndSo/Shadowsmage: Thanks for the support! More posts will be up 3 times a week or so, possibly faster when I got extra free time.**

 **Unanonymous: The Trace finds underage magic neither by the person nor the wand. It finds it solely by magic cast near underage witches and wizards in general. It doesn't matter if the person casting it is the underage person themselves, an adult wizard that happens to be nearby, or a House Elf mimicking a specific wizard Charm, or whether those individuals have a wand or not. So yes, it is very imprecise. Iris still has to be careful however as the Ministry registers underage wizards. Notices of underage magic where they know an underage wizard doesn't (or at least shouldn't) exist can draw Ministry attention, especially if said instances of magic are exceptionally powerful. Fortunately the Ministry can only detect spells, wandless or not. It cannot detect rituals, enchanted objects, or previously cast magic that is still working. Unfortunately, there will be situations Iris has (or believes she has) to use spells, as there are no other options.**

 **Dislaimer: Did the Weasley Twins basically invent dozens of objects capable of high-end potion effects and human transfiguration while still in their fifth and sixth year and their mother was still annoying them about their OWL results? If yes, I don't own Harry Potter - it still belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **...**

The last week had been the best in little Harry Potter's admittedly brief life. There had been a lot of changes in Number 4 Privet Drive and all of them for the better, in Harry's opinion. The first had been that Dursley had finnaly managed to achieve the goal he'd been pursuing with all his efforts for the past three years; he'd somehow turned himself into a half-pig! Needless to say, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had not been happy. In fact, Uncle Vernon had turned a truly murderous gaze upon Harry and had slowly advanced upon him, hands clenched into fists. Only his uncle's inability to find words ugly enough to describe his intent leading to a near apoplectic fit had kept Harry safe long enough for him to retrieve his new book. After he'd done so, the strange woman's words had proven true: the Dursleys had utterly ignored him, as if he didn't exist. That allowed him to observe the following events from the safety of total concealment in plain sight.

There had been lots of wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and cursing the "Freaks" from the Dursleys in that first day. Things had taken a funny turn when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had finally gotten to opening the package the strange visitor had left for them. Their faces had gone through all those interesting colors - yellow, white, red, grey - even green! Then they had had a very long discussion which Harry had shamelessly spied upon with the help of his new book. And it was good that he'd done so for the discussion had been all about him!

They referred to him as "freak" or "boy" of course, but after years of being called that, Harry would never mistake those words uttered by the Dursleys at that tone as referring to anybody else. What they talked about though was even more interesting. How they'd taken him in at the "old goat's" insistence, how another one of those "freaks" had now carried out a threat against their family they could not ignore, how they had to be nice to Harry or far worse would follow. His uncle had cursed the "freaks" and their "damned list" for so long and with such vehemence that Harry wanted to see the list for himself. Shopping lists were the only kind of lists he knew about and how could anything to do with shopping make the Dursleys so angry? They loved shopping! Luckily, Harry's new magic book had hidden him well enough that he'd managed to nick the list under the Dursleys noses with them none the wiser. Reading it had been very... revealing.

 _1) You will not beat Harry for any reason. Nor will you allow Dudley to do so._

 _2) You will use Harry's name and never insult him or use derogatory terms to refer to him._

 _3) You will give Harry a normal room of his own and not the cupboard under the stairs you have him using._

 _4) You will buy Harry his own clothes and other necessities of a quality equal to Dudley's, and not the castoffs he's now wearing._

 _5) You will feed Harry full portions. Malnourishment won't be tolerated._

 _6) You will not force any chores upon Harry._

 _7) You will pay Harry or Dudley 1 pound for each hour's worth of chores they're willing to do. No other money will be given to either._

 _8) You will not punish Harry for anything that has to do with his heritage (what you call freakishness) or past._

 _9) You will never lie to Harry, and will answer truthfully all questions about his past._

 _10) You will both sign this contract and accept it within 24 hours._

 _11) If you don't, I'll be back and you will be dogs. Literally. Aunt Marge might take care of you... or strangle you. You know how she is._

 _12) You will not be able to destroy or get rid of this contract. Feel free to try if you don't believe me._

 _13) Signing this contract and then breaking it would be unwise. Moreso than ignoring clause 11._

That had been... awesome! Did the strange lady have the ability to so intimidate the Dursleys into doing all that? She must have! Who else could have turned Dudley into a half-pig? Harry had no idea how she'd managed it though. Such things only happened in fairytales with witches and princesses and stupidly handsome though amazingly daring princes. Perhaps his new, apparently magical book would tell him?

The rest of the week passed fairly quietly. Harry had been tempted to keep the list so the Dursleys couldn't sign it and the strange lady would come back but he felt it wouldn't be nice or fair - and he'd always tried to be nice and fair, even when everybody else wasn't. Grudgingly, after much heated discussion and Uncle Vernon getting so red in the face his head almost exploded, the list had been signed and life in Number 4 Privet Drive had changed. The Dursleys didn't pay him much attention - all of Aunt Petunia's efforts were focused onto helping Dudley while Uncle Vernon worked even longer hours. They hired a gardener to keep up the garden while Dudley was "sick" and even paid Harry for all the housework he did as the list demanded - not that the Dursleys knew he'd read it. He was so very happy to finally have some spending money on his own, even though he'd no idea what to do with it.

Harry had focused on reading his new book. It was very difficult, very slow work - he was only six, after all - but the book was very interesting too. The first chapter for example, who'd taken him the rest of the week to go through, talked about all the strange events that occasionally happened and the Dursleys blamed him for. The book mentioned every one of them in detail and it turned out his aunt and uncle had been right; he had been responsible for them. The book explained how they happened when he was very emotional, such as when he was angry, or afraid, or wanted something really badly. It also said that he could cause such events on purpose if he tried hard and wanted it badly enough. Harry had no idea why he'd ever want to shrink his clothes or make his hair grow rapidly, but the title of the next chapter was very interesting so he read on. It was "How To Move Objects With Your Mind"...

 **...**

Azkaban had not always been the most secure prison in Wizarding Britain. It had once been the fortress of the Dark wizard Ezkridis, a fellow nastier than even Tom Riddle, if less inclined towards political power. He'd invested his island fortress with many powerful defenses to ensure his privacy and that his very nasty experiments on the bodies, minds, and souls of hapless muggle sailors he drew in to their dooms would not be interrupted. Come to think of it, Iris had no idea whether Ezkridis had been male or female - maybe he'd been part siren or part lamia?

Joking aside, breaking into Azkaban was no simple matter. Even with the ministry's idiotic insistence to let Dementors handle all active security, the island's passive defenses were bad enough. It was one of only three places in the world that had comprehensive anti-disapparition enchantments, that Iris knew of. She suspected that had been one of the reasons it had been made into a prison in the first place; without something to prevent House Elves from appearing, their masters could simply call them and have their servants transport them out. As the Ministry had never managed to replicate that feat and neither Numengard nor the Chamber of Secrets were available to house further inmates in...

In reality, getting in wasn't her biggest problem. How to do so without using active magic was a much more important issue. Few things would mobilize both Aurors and Unspeakables faster than underage magic being detected in Azkaban - especially the level of magic needed to overcome the prison's defenses. Being who she was and having lived through certain events in her past -now her future- afforded her several additional options however. Thus, she'd spent the past week brewing, adjusting, and packing certain mixtures, as well as doing some minor enchantment.

As the Half-Blood Prince incident and her own OWL marks had proven, Iris had never been bad at Potions. In fact, she'd challenge anyone to get an Exceeds Expectations in a subject where the Professor held such bitter personal enmity against them and put tremendous efforts into outright failing them in every single lesson. It had been Professor Snape's attitude and her own Dursley-promoted lackadaisical attitude towards academics that had seen her ignore her magical talents except Defense and Flying. All of that had changed however with her acceptance into the Auror corps. Genuinely loving her very demanding job, maintaining the respect of other Aurors, and having to face various magical dangers in a daily basis had forced her to cultivate those skills. Her respect for both Professor Snape and the Weasley Twins had risen as she'd delved into the mysteries of that discipline first to simply survive the demands of being an Auror, then to understand the tools and tricks Snape and the Twins had once used that many criminals favored as well, and finally to make her own improvements or at least changes in some of those inventions.

Now, after a week of tinkering everything was ready. An array of potions in nonliquid form -the field the Twins had pioneered- shrunk to the size of tiny pellets. An invisibility booster the size of a necklace, since using the Cloak was out of the question. A ring enchanted to both remain between changing forms and to help in the escape. And a tiny purse, small enough to hang from one finger. Only one final step remained. Iris opened the Potions compartment of her trunk and took out a vial with a merrily bubbling liquid like molten gold, tiny droplets jumping off its surface like miniature goldfish and almost miraculously always falling back into the potion however the vial was moved. The potion was dangerous but the task ahead much more so; Iris would need every bit of luck she could get.

 **...**

Flying at high altitude over the North Sea was every bit as unpleasant as she'd expected. Cold winds, even colder drops of water, the tang of sea salt, the darkened skies and black stormclouds looming ahead. Either the presence of Dementors or an Atmospheric Charm ensured permanent bad weather around Azkaban, but under the influence of Felix Felicis, Iris didn't mind; everything was going according to plan. Owls couldn't normally fly at nearly two hundred miles per hour - not even witches pretending to be owls after eating a human-to-animal snack originally invented by the Weasley Twins - but the Featherlight effect provided by her enchanted ring made long-distance, high-speed flight easy. She only had to put as much effort to work against air resistance as she'd normally have needed to simply remain aloft; with her weight nullified magically, she only needed to worry about forward impulse. If she got tired, she could rest by simply folding her wings while still moving forward by momentum alone.

A massive triangular construct of obsidian and black iron appeared through the mists in the distance. The strange impulses from Felix Felicis agreed with logical assessment so she tore off one of the pellets hanging from an unbreakable string from one foot and swallowed. Immediately, her mind calmed entirely and sudden emotional outbursts became a near-impossibility. In the form of an owl she'd be far less susceptible to the influence of Dementors but that did not mean she'd be immune - especially as she had to return to a human form for part of the plan. The calming draught analogue she'd just consumed would further diminish the effects of the Dementors' presence; potion-induced calm fighting off supernaturally-induced fear for a time.

The Dementors hanging over and around the prison paid her no attention. To them she was an animal, and one with stunted emotions at that - they had no interest for something like her. The human guards that might or might not be present in the lower levels of the prison would see little more than a speck at that distance, assuming they looked up at all. Who wanted to stare at dementors when they could huddle around a warm fire and drink in some Firewhiskey-laced tea in such a cold and dreary afternoon? Finding Sirius cell after that was easy; both her familiarity with Azkaban as an Auror in the past/future and the impulses received by the Liquid Luck she'd taken earlier led her to the same window. Too small for a human, it was just large enough for her owl self - it had been one of the first security holes to be fixed after the Battle of Hogwarts. Now, it was time.

Freeing Sirius had never been in question. Despite the temporal backlash causing enormous problems and overturning all their neatly arranged plans, despite her inability to provide even for herself for more than a few months - at least legally - leaving her godfather in this living hell was something she'd never even considered. She'd get him out - and damn the consequences. Seeing just how bad the conditions were before the Ministry's reformation had made that resolution even stronger.

"Sirius Black?"

She asked in a low voice after she'd entered his dismal cell and eaten an antidote pellet. The gaunt man with the long, tangled black hair looked up towards her position. He wasn't nearly as emaciated and dirty as she remembered seein him after his escape in the past/future. After only five years in hell on Earth, he still retained some of his aristocratic good looks and there was a hint of life in his grey eyes.

"Go away." He croaked.

"What?" She asked, confused. That wasn't a responce she'd expected.

"Strange voices that talk to you out of thin air are a sign of madness." He said a bit more insistently. "Go away!"

"I'm a person, not a voice!" Oh, right, the invisibility booster was still on. She couldn't risk being seen by a human guard doing his rounds. "I'm merely invisible. I'm also here to get you out." Sirius croaked but she could make out no words. It took her half a minute to realize he was trying to laught but failing dismally.

"That's a good one mate, voice of madness or not." He laughed a bit more. "OK, I'll bite. What's a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this? You *are* a nice girl, right?"

"We don't have time for this!" Her godfather was hitting on her! And his pickup lines were horrible. "Look, do you want out of this hellhole or not?"

"Why'd I want that?" He said bitterly. "I'm guilty of my best friends' deaths. I deserve to be here. Hell, I deserve worse - except worse doesn't exist, so Azkaban will have to do."

"No, you don't." She stated firmly. Merlin save her from self-sacrificing idiots willing to shoulder the blame of others' actions. It had taken her twenty years to grow out of it herself and only in her late thirties she'd seen just how much damage that had done to herself and others. There was, however, one surefire way to get her godfather to follow. "I know the rat who is... as well as where he lives these days."

"What did you say?" Sirius hissed with such vehemence she almost took a step back. Felix or no Felix, much of her hard-earned confidence had gone away along with thirty-six years of her former age.

"You heard me." She confirmed with a smile, hoping the dampening of her emotions would trick the dementors for a bit longer. "But before we go, there are some things left to do." From the tiny purse she'd carried along in owl form, she removed the grizliest of the shrunk objects she'd taken along in preparation.

"What the bloody hell?!" It was Sirius' time to take several steps back in shock as the shrinking charm ended and a body appeared. Stolen from a muggle morgue before the medical examiner got his hands on it, it was the only way to cover the next part of their plan. The objects that followed into being unshrunk were a ritual knife and a small chalice. Those she threw towards Sirius.

"We don't have much time." She instructed. "Use the athame and put some of your blood in the chalice. Filling it to one third should do."

"You are using blood magic?" Sirius asked, living up to his old joke for once.

"It is the only way to cover your disappearance." Iris' renewed interest in learning after the War had led her to examine in detail much of the magic that had shaped her early life. One of the first things she'd investigated had been her mother's sacrifice, and the blood-based defensive enchantments Dumbledore had used to ensure her safety during her early years. She'd been surprised to discover Blood Sorcery, the discipline of magic they'd both belonged to, was one of the oldest kinds of Dark Art. Curious to see what kind of Dark magic both her mother and Dumbledore had been willing to use, she'd delved into its mysteries... and soon found the apple did not fall far from the tree; she was rather good at it. "You don't want the dementors after us while you're recovering and we're trying to clear your name, do you?"

Sirius grunted his gudging agreement, then did as she had instructed. Taking back the athame and chalice, she started carving a ritualistic design on the corpse's chest, one that wasn't quite runes or arithmancy but a single complicated symbol the ritual's original creator had fashioned specifically for this bit of magic. Once she was done with her grisly task, she filled the cuts with Sirius' blood and stepped back as the corpse seemed to melt and bubble much like a person after taking Polyjuice. The intended result was the same, except it applied to dead bodies rather than living; soon enough, a naked and dead Sirius stared up at them from the cell's floor.

"That's disgusting." Alive-Sirius said with a shudder. Unfortunately, it wasn't over yet.

"You need to disrobe." She said.

"What?" Her godfather almost shrieked. "I... I am not doing that!"

"Come on, Sirius. The corpse needs to be in your prison clothes." She said evenly, her amusement suppressed by the calming draught and the dementors' presence. "Besides, you have nothing I haven't seen before. The corpse is, after all, you - and it is in plain sight." Not that she had been looking at it too closely - implying so to her goodfather might simply speed things up.

"Eeek." Living up to her expectations, Alive-Sirius quickly disrobed then dressed up the corpse himself. Then he resolutely turned towards the wall so that nothing too embarassing would be visible to his invisible rescuer.

"Here." She took out a tiny potion vial, the only liquid potion she'd carefully prepared over the past week. "This will both hide your current... circumstance and convince the dementors you've died. It will not be pleasant... but it will be fairly quick."

Not bothering with any objections, Sirius swallowed the potion. Then he tried to scream... and failed. His shuddering body collapsed, his not-quite-ruined face frozen in a rictus of agony. The potion's first effect wasn't killing him - it was only making him feel as if he was dying. As his convulsions became more spasmodic, brief, and infrequent, his body melted and transformed into a fake Knut. To the dementors' emotion sense, it would seem as if he'd died and with his corpse found within his cell, in his own clothes, and with no obvious magic cast upon it, it would be either hastily buried or discarded. It had, after all, happened once before with one Barty Crouch Junior.

Picking up the Sirius-Knut and placing it in the tiny purse, she made her escape.

 **...**

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

Iris wasn't sure if the occupant of the cell had heard her angry whispers and didn't much care. She'd tried to fly away from Azkaban three times now, and every single time an overpowering urge courtesy of Felic Felicis had turned her back. The powerful potion was known not only to bend probability in favor of the drinker but also to make sure the drinker made the most advantageous decisions that would lead to even more advantageous probable outcomes Felix could bend in the drinker's favor. She'd experienced this effect many years before in her attempts to get a memory about Tom Riddle from Professor Slughorn. After drinking the potion, she'd immediately decided to go and see Hagrid instead of the Potions Master, despite her friends' strong disagreement. She had not even realized to what extent the potion was bending her own decisions, following the magical impulses almost blindly. It had all worked out in the end, and far better than she'd expected.

Now that she was older (her real physical age notwithstanding) she could better differentiate between her own throughs and the potion's influence. What she could not do, despite her strong Occlumency, was fight them while also trying to hide herself from the dementors and flying through strong winds and rain in a form that wasn't her own. As for why she wanted to fight those impulses in the first place...

"Reveal yourself interloper." A supremely confident if slightly weakened voice commanded. "Did you really think I would not notice you?"

"Aren't you supposed to be insane?" She asked the cell's very dangerous occupant. The tall, aristocratic woman was deemed such a danger even wandless that she was securely bound with enchanted chains even inside her cell in Azkaban.

"Insanity is a point of vew." Bellatrix Lestrange laughed, the barest hints of the cackle she would develop after nearly fifteen years in Azkaban already there. "From my point of view, a useless Ministry whose practices slowly lead our traditions and entire world into destruction is certainly insane."

"Interesting." And partly true - a nation without culture and tradition would eventually collapse, as Iris' own future had proven. On the other hand, Bellatrix Lestrange was nothing if not a fanatic. "Is that why you tortured the Longbottoms into insanity?"

"They got what they deserved." The Dark witch said with supreme confidence in her own decision to callously blot out a pair of lives, like she'd done many other times in the past. "Anyone who stands in the way of restoring the wizarding world's glory and power, be they wizard, halfbreed, or muggle, must die. All who are not with us are against us." She laughed again. "Will you kill me for that, interloper?"

"No." Iris said, almost without meaning it. Why, why, why was Felix Felicis pushing her into this course of action? Bellatrix was one of Tom Riddle's strongest, most fanatic supporters. What incredibly unlikely outcome could possibly benefit Iris' plans if she did as the potion urged? Her original plan had been to free Sirius, then hide in Number 12 Grimmauld Place until it was time to get the rat. How did this... wait. Wait, wait, wait. What if... The skeleton of a new plan was beginning to take shape in Iris' mind. One that might even explain her presence, and partially offset the huge mess her de-aging had made of the original plan. It was reckless in the extreme, at least in its initial phases, but she might have a chance to pull it off. She wondered if this overconfidence was a bad reaction to Felix Felicis, but she had not taken nearly enough for an overdose. 12 hours' worth of perfect luck per year was the upper limit and she was nowhere close to it yet. Maybe...

"I tire of this game, and your silence." Bellatrix said. "I shall return to my game with the Dementors. At least their trying to twist my motives, beliefs, and past against me is neither boring, nor quiet."

"What if I could release you from this prison?" Iris asked before she could change her mind.

"Why would I follow a stranger out?" The functionally insane witch asked. "My Lord is immortal and has promised to return for us who are loyal to him. The Ministry is too weak to kill me and eventually I will be free."

"True. But I do have knowledge of your Lord you do not." Iris offered. If only she could play this right... this time the Liquid Luck's urges were useful at least. "I will even swear an Unbreakable Vow that your remaining here would be far more harmful to your dream of a powerful Wizarding Britain than you following me now." Oh boy was that the absolute truth. Bellatrix's and the other Death Eaters' future actions had put the final nail in the coffin of Wizarding Britain. After so many losses in a civil war, anything Iris and the reformed government had attempted to do had only slowed down the inevitable.

"I see..." The half-mad witch thought about it for a few moments but there really was no other answer. Iris had told her exactly the part of the truth she'd wanted to hear, just as she'd shared with Slughorn that she had been the Chosen One. "Very well, I accept. How are we leaving?"

"Painfully." Iris said, glad that she'd insisted on redundant preparations in every part of the plan. The only thing she didn't have at least two of was a spare corpse so she'd have to improvise. It would be dangerous - incredibly so - but there was no other option. First, she made a cut in Bellatrix's chained hand and collected a modest amount of blood. Then from the same hand she cut out a strip of skin, and tore several long hairs from the half-mad witch's mane.

"What are you doing?" Bellatrix asked curiously, no hint of pain in her voice.

"Faking your death." With a flick of her wand she vanished the bones in the prisoner's hands, allowing them to slip freely and bonelessly through the heavy manacles. There went any hope for a clean, undetectable escape but hopefully the rest could cover it.

"Interesting way to get these off me without triggering an alarm." The other woman said conversationally. "Also, to ensure I cannot use a wand before given Skele-Gro and thus prevent me from stabbing you in the back." Nobody had ever accused the most capable witch in Tom's service of being stupid.

"They'll also serve a third purpose." Casting a very tricky bit of Untransfiguration, she retrieved the bones out of the nothing - and everything - they'd been vanished into. It was the same way she retrieved her Silver Shield to block Unforgiveables; while a temporarily conjured object would collapse against them, a previously vanished but real object would not. Too bad reintegrating bones in the body was beyond hers - and probably anyone's - skill. It required far too much accuracy and fine control to manage. The bones of the right hand she smashed underfoot then disfigured with a blast of magic beyond recognition - as far as the limited forensics of the old Wizarding Britain were concerned - then cast upon the fragments, the strip of skin, the hair, and the blood the Duplication Charm. In moments, she had enough blood, bone fragments, torn skin and hair to make it look like Bellatrix had simply been blown up with a Blasting Curse, much of her body consumed in the process but enough left that her death was a foregone conclusion.

"Now the only thing needed is for you to drink this potion." She said, retrieving another dose of the potion she'd given to Sirius. "It will convince the Dementors you've died messily - as messily as the room will indicate once all this blood, bone, skin, and hair will indicate once we're done.

"Aren't you a smart one." The Dark witch mocked, thankfully not in her future/past imitation of a baby's voice. That had been horrible - and hopefully only a result of another decade of dementor influence. After Bellatrix's oddly silent mock death and transformation, Iris banished the remains all over the cell, took another shrunk pellet of human-to-owl transformation and flew away. With the only way to recognize duplicated objects if you weren't the caster being their degradation from the original, and most organic remains degrading faster than that in the open, the Ministry would probably believe someone had invaded Azkaban to murder Sirius and Bellatrix rather than free them. Now all that remained would be to retreat to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, clear Sirius' name, set up a new identity for Bellatrix, and work to counter both Ministry corruption and Tom Riddle's future return.

Piece of cake for a 42-year-old Woman-Who-Conquered from the future, right?


	4. A perfect house

**HeirOfTheHowlingWolves/Teufel1987/unanonymous: thanks!**

 **ReBein: Oh, there are a lot more paradox-caused problems waiting for poor Iris to stumble upon them. :)**

 **Disclaimer: did most of the Black family die fairly young even for muggles, despite the greater longevity of wizards? If yes, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not me. They still didn't die too young for me to use them in this story I write for fun, not profit.**

 **...**

It was at least an hour past midnight and young Harry Potter could not sleep. Despite his new soft bed, the excellent meal he'd had a few hours earlier, and his cousin Dudley being punished for the first time ever after trying to trip him down the stairs, a new and powerful emotion kept him up so very late. He stared at the tiny little grain of rice he'd taken earlier from the kitchen, his young face grimacing in fierce concentration until...

"Yes!"

The grain moved! It had really, truly moved for the third time that night, without Harry touching it at all. He resisted the impulse to jump up and down on his new bed and cry out in triumph: the Dursleys were fast asleep and he really didn't want them angry enough with him to do something despite the agreement the strange lady had forced them to sign. Which they would be, if he woke them up at such a late hour.

Holding back his enthusiasm was had work though. Almost as hard as getting the grain to move for the first time. But now that he'd convinced himself his previous attempts had not been inexplicable flukes or freak accidents, he had proof that all he'd read in his wondrous new book were the truth. He had proof that what his Aunt and Uncle had always claimed was true, though not in the way they'd always told him.

Harry Potter, age six, was special. He really, truly was: he could move objects with his mind. Sure, those "objects" were only a grain of rice for now but if what his wondrous new book said was true, hed eventually be able to move much bigger things. And then, there were all the inexplicable things that happened around him from time to time, especially when he was very angry or very frightened. The book had explained that all those "freakish" things were his doing, and they happened if he was angry or scared because that was when he wanted them to happen really badly. If he kept practicing, the book claimed, he should eventually be able to repeat all he'd done by accident so far - and more besides.

Harry thought of shrinking Dudley's clothes or growing his cousin's hair until they were as long and as unruly as his and his smile widened.

 **...**

Flying towards London under her own power in the form of an owl at speeds that would make many a Quidditch player lose their breakfast, Iris considered her current situation. The two most immediate matters in her agenda - saving her younger self and Sirius from their respective prisons - had been accomplished, if not quite in the way she and the DA had originally planned. She could now focus on the more personal drawbacks the temporal backlash had left her with.

The most immediate problem would be finding a place to live. The original plan had called for buying a place, preferably Muggle, then applying defensive enchantments to it personally. Unfortunately, six-year olds could buy and own property in neither the muggle nor magical worlds... and the Trace would make casting her own defensive enchantments prohibitively obvious to the Ministry. All the means she currently had to conceal her age had not been meant for prolonged use: they'd last a couple of months at most. Making more Polyjuice that would turn her into her original form was impossible, and other potions would require even longer to brew.

The second issue was identity: establishing herself in the past. Establishing a Muggle identity would be quite easy, but useless in the wizarding world. A magical identity was much harder to forge, and Polyjuiced individuals could not pass magical identification tests as simple as making a Vow stating they were who they claimed to be, let alone the blood-magic tests employed by Gringotts. Without a secure base of operations not under the Ministry's scrutiny and at least one adult ally, integrating herself into wizarding Britain would require raiding the Ministry itself and falsifying the papers directly in the Archive. The chances of that happening were only slightly better than Tom Riddle getting happily married to a muggle wife and abandoning his dreams of conquest.

Fortunately there was a fairly simple solution to both problems, Iris thought as she flew over the London Borough of Islington. With familiarity developed over more than two decades, she navigated the streets and alleys until she landed before a line of residential buildings she'd known since shortly after her fifteenth birthday. Waiting for the right moment under cover of darkness, she stood right before a geometrical impossibility where her eyes and those of few others would see seven buildings while most of Britain, magical or muggle, would see only six. They might even laugh at the amusing mistake in numbering which landed number 13 next to number 11.

Iris sighed in relief at the first piece of good news since she'd taken a small step back for a witch, but one rather enormous for wizardkind. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not only wholly visible to her but its defensive enchantments still felt welcoming. She'd lived in it for twenty-four years, attuning herself to every spell and magical security measure her godfather's family had applied to it as well as many she'd cast herself. That attunement seemed to have carried over despite her time-travel and even if it had not, the enchantments were in the same configuration as they'd been in her time; between her experience with them, the identity of her grandmother, and having magically inherited the place after Sirius' death, she could have bypassed them in her sleep. With Sirius' loving, sweet, dear mother dead since 1985, she could now claim the place as her own.

Stepping deftly through the outer defenses, dozens of enchantments all but singing in welcome at her approach, she opened the door and entered her new home.

 **...**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore paced in his office, occasionally staring at some of the many delicate devices of his own invention occupying much of the surface of his desk. Where once all of them had been puffing idly or remained motionless, over the past tenday a few of them have had spikes of activity. Normally, the aging Headmaster of Hogwarts would pat his long silver beard a couple of times, work through some Arithmantic calculations in his mind, then return to mostly ignoring the minor, unconnected events his devices had reported. That wasn't an option now though, not after the disturbing information his contacts in the Ministry of Magic and elsewhere had uncovered.

The first alarming event had happened in the 31st of July, a bit over a week ago. Sensors in the Ministry had detected a tremendous surge of wild magic fanning out of Godric's Hollow and spreading all over the world. Nobody seemed to know what the surge might mean but its aftereffects were obvious if one of sufficient affinity for magic would look closely enough. What Dumbledore himself had discovered once he'd done so had been alarming: the wave of wild magic had damaged reality itself. The normal flow of time had been disrupted as the damage was restored over the days that followed, but its effects remained; hours had been shifted around and more events had fit into a single day than nomrally possible while other days had been diminished. The effect was almost impossible to notice as one's perceptions were inside the altered flow of time, and one's mind sought to bury the countless inconsistences or outright impossibilities caused by paradox.

The second alarming event were surges of underage magic all over Britain. Surges of magic under previously unknown young witches or wizards, it would be more accurate to say. Perhaps young children first coming into their powers from families so damaged or even destroyed during the war that they'd not been registered with the Ministry? Dumbledore could only hope it was something like that; the last couple of years of the war had seen wizarding childbirths in Britain drastically diminish as many young couples were killed before they could have children, others broke up or went into hiding, and more than a few left Britain altogether. The aging Headmaster remembered the results of his projections sadly; in a few years Hogwarts would see new classes of first years so diminished as to be half as large as those only half a decade before. On the other hand, those surges of magic might indicate something wrong with the Trace itself: with the Ministry still in chaos after four years of post-war rebuilding, the Improper Use of Magic Office was terribly understaffed and mistakes might be made. That was the only logical reason he could think of, for them to detect underage magical activity in Azkaban of all places.

Speaking of Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black had just been reported dead only a few hours ago. While Albus Dumbledore would always regret the loss of life, in some cases it was the lesser of two evils. Voldemort's two most important and deadly supporters might be such cases, though their deaths were unusual. All evidence pointed towards foul play, especially in Bellatrix's case. Who in their right mind could have broken into the second most secure wizarding prison to kill the two of them? Dumbledore didn't know but intended to find out.

All of those strange issues rang alarm bells in the great wizard's mind, especially given their timing, and coinciding with some irregularities with young Harry Potter living as secluded from the wizarding world and safe from retribution as Dumbledore could make him. Dumbledore's devices had detected uses of magic in Number 4 Privet Drive. Most of them were very minor, probably accidental magic from young Harry himself. A couple of them however had been much more powerful and complex and definitely not the work of someone untrained. Had dark wizards -or any wizards really- found their way into young Harry's new place of residence? The powerful aversion charms built into the protections he'd left in the House should have prevented anyone who didn't already know of Number 4 Privet Drive, that Harry lived there, and that such a protection existed from even finding the house or sending magical post, let alone physically visiting.

Perhaps a visit to the Dursleys was in order...

 **...**

"Why, hello there dear." The tall, middle-aged, severe-looking witch said as Iris froze in shock. "Are you here for the gathering?"

"T-the gathering?" She responded stupidly, mind struggling to comprehend the situation. The house was supposed to be empty! Iris distinctly remembered Sirius telling her so even after a quarter century: it had been abandoned after Walburga's death in '85!

"The emergency meeting cousin Arcturus called, of course!" The older woman said impatiently. At that moment she reminded Iris a bit of Professor McGonagal back when Iris was a teenager, and not exactly interested in academic achievements - or any achevements truth be told. The face might have been narrower, the hair blacker and longer and the eyes more calculating than her old Transfiguration instructor's, but their demeanor, the aura of authority... those were the same. "Though I suppose he might be several generations further back than uncle to you." The unknown witch's elaborate black dress shifted imperceptibly and something in Iris' still scrambling (and scrambled) brain gave warning. "Which side of the family do you come from, by the way? I do not believe we've met, though you do seem somehow familiar."

"I..." Iris tried to remember the Black family tree but couldn't for the life of her recall which family members would have been alive in 1986. Arcturus' cousin... was that Arcturus Black the Third? He'd been Head of House back in his day but had abdicated in favor of his son Orion, Sirius' father. With Orion and Walburga both dead and Sirius in her pocket... did that mean he'd taken control of the family? Not that those details helped her much: the man had had over half a dozen cousins that she knew of.

 _"Imperio!"_

Faster than she would have believed possible from anyone short of Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, or Iris herself, the older woman's wand rose in her direction and the first Unforgivable had been used expertly and without hesitation. As the powerful compulsion tried to find purchase in her thoughts, the former Head Auror cursed herself for her carelessness.

"Who are you, child? The truth now." Any traces of the friendly grandmother were gone now and eyes like two pieces of flint stared down at the intruder. In her attacker's future and Iris' own past, throwing off the Imperius Curse would have been almost reflexive for the woman who'd first succeeded at it in fourteen and had had endless practice in the following three decades. At that moment though, another major problem caused by paradox reared its ugly head. Iris was no longer an adult and neither was she her disembodied future self inhabiting a younger body. She'd really become a child physically, only being able to function as an adult through magical means. Not even her new true height of barely four feet had made that point so strongly as the amount of effort needed to throw off an unexpected Imperius. The Black witch stumbled back as her curse broke and losing no time, Iris struck back. With one hand, she summoned the older woman's wand to her. With the other, she bound her with conjured ropes like her first ever Defense Professor had done to her so many years ago.

"That wasn't very polite." She said to her attacker with a scowl.

"I'm sorry child. I didn't know one should be polite to unknown intruders." the older witch said snidely. "Though I must admit this is the first time anyone has ever disarmed me in this way, unwise thought it might have been."

"Un... unwise?" Iris paused to collect her suddenly sluggish thoughts. The other witch's wand suddenly fell off her nerveless fingers. What the...

"Of course, dear." The older woman nodded sagely. "One must always protect one's wand with potions and spells against being disarmed." Iris stumbled back, trying to draw her own wand but failing. "Tsk. Tsk. What do they teach in Hogwarts these days?" The last thing Iris saw was an aging wizard coming running into the entrance hall, vanishing the bonds she'd conjured on the other witch with a flick of his wand.

Then darkness took her.


	5. A perfect family

**unanonymous: Cliffhangers were largely absent from my other story so I decided to try my hand in them with this one. A lot of things Iris expects are going to surprise her and not only due to her own influence in the timeline. For one thing, how well do we ever know history or even our own family when distanced from them for many years? For another, human memory is rarely reliable and perception or belief even less.**

 **RebeccaRoy: MUHAHAHAHAHAHA... erm, sorry. Just had an evilgasm.**

 **askasknot: Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: Did JK Rowling claim that the Harry Potter series could just as easily have had a female protagonist despite its dismal treatment of pretty much every major female character? If yes, then Harry Potter belongs solely to her; I am just writing this for fun.**

 **...**

 _"Rennervate!"_

What is worse than waking up to a dark room, within a dark stronghold, without a wand or purse, bound with golden chains to a cast iron seat, facing a half-dozen dark witches and wizards seated in throne-like chairs and staring down at you? Having to do all of the above three and a half decades in your own past, after being reduced to the age of six and needing a potion to appear adult, with your head pounding and fuzzy as if after an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, and a softly pleasant, hypnotic voice in your head insisting everything will be perfect as long as you tell everyone the truth. Oh, and being put into this whole situation by a grandmotherly old witch _after_ you'd already disarmed her. Sometimes Iris Potter, ex Head Auror, hated her life.

"Who are you?" Demanded the tall, distinguished-looking old wizard in the impressive black suit. Seated in the most elaborate throne at the center of the line of Blacks, he was almost certainly the Head of House and her host for the evening. Resisting the compulsion to answer for a brief moment, something that took her younger self far too much mental effort, she tried to recall everything she knew about the wizard before her. From what she could remember of a few conversations with Sirius, Arcturus Black was not a man to cross lightly. A strong wizard and an even better politician, he'd supported pureblood politics but still managed to keep the majority of his House out of taking an active part in the War. His distance from the youngest Black generation however had not allowed him to influence them successfully and the three most promising young members had taken sides openly, to disastrous results for the future of the House

"My name... is... Iris." She answered, unable to fight the effects of Veritaserum any longer.

"Which family has claim on you?" Arcturus asked in a too official tome for something as simple as getting her surname. Of course, as Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, he was as tied to tradition as anyone... and that gave her an opportunity.

"The House of Black." She stated confidently. In the future, she might have the name Potter but was both heir and member by blood to Black as well. And with all adult Potters dead in the current timeline and Harry Potter accepted as the only survivor, the only House she could reasonably claim to be member of was the one she was in that very moment.

"Why are you here?" Arcturus cut through the whispers of the other older Blacks harshly.

"To help... restore this House... to its former glory." The influence of the Black name would be invaluable in any attempt to save, let alone reform, Wizarding Britain. She'd originally planned to support Sirius in this... huge mistake. Was her new-found youth responsible for this lapse in judgement? She hoped not. Disastrous blunders were something she could ill-afford.

"Too late for that." Arcturus said sharply, and suddenly all the weight of the older wizard's years seemed to press down on him. "The last hope of our House perished ignominiously in prison not twelve hours ago."

"That's not true!" Iris blurted before she could stop herself and every eye in the room locked into hers. Damn, damn, damn.

"Explain." The old wizard roared furiously. "Now!" Oh, bloody hell. He thought she was playing with him to d...AAARGHHH!

"Trying to exploit another's grief like that is despicable." The severe-looking grandmother whose trap she'd fallen for not long ago said. Iris bit her own lips hard enough to draw blood, trying to keep any further undignified screams from coming out as molten metal flowed through every bone, every blood vessel, over her skin and into her eyes. The foggy Nirvana-like effect of Veritaserum was the only reason she was not screaming her lungs out while struggling hard enough against her chains to snap her own bones. It had been two decades since someone had last been in a position to use the Cruciatus curse against her to any effect, over two and a half since the last time she'd been helpless against it. Slowly, oh so slowly, the debilitating agony retreated from every part of her body.

"No... lie... right... pocket... knuts... transfigured..." Someone came over and went through her pockets again but Iris was in no position to protest or even recognize who it was. Whatever unlikely combination of effects had resulted into her being so strongly affected by the Unforgivable had left her only a hair from unconsciousness, despite the Cruciatus being very effective at keeping someone awake. She could not afford to be knocked out again. She had no idea how long they'd kept her under the first time, but she'd last drunk Polyjuice two hours before her arrival. Even with the maximum duration of twelve hours she'd eventually revert, and having the body of a six-year-old girl when dealing with seventy-plus-years-old dark witches and wizards would be bad.

"What do you think, Cassiopeia?" Someone asked as Iris tried and failed to open her eyes. The voices from the discussion around her were getting stronger but voluntary motion was still beyond her.

"Definitely human transfiguration." The voice of the evil grandmother from Hell said. At least she knew her name now. "It is possible what she implies is the truth."

"Why don't you turn them back, then?" Arcturus said impatiently.

"You never managed post-NEWT Transfiguration, did you cousin?" The vile witch said in what Iris suspected was her standard demeaning manner. "As we know not the original condition of the transformed and only suspect their identity, reverting them to human form through Untransfiguration would be unwise. What clothes did they wear? How long was their hair? How progressed was their malnutrition? Were they sick? And even if our guess is correct, which knut is which family member? Transfiguration is a very exacting branch of magic. Trying a blind change could end... poorly."

"Then simply dispel the effect with a counterspell." Someone else suggested.

"Don't you think I've tried? It didn't work." The next part of her answer was a barely audible mutter but brought a very small smile to Iris' face. "Our guest's spell was uncommonly powerful."

Surprised whispers followed that proclamation. The exhausted time-traveler took them as permission to rest for awhile. The Blacks would hardly get rid of her now, if there was even a possibility that they needed her to recover Sirius and his murdering cousin. A few minutes to catch a second wind, she thought, and she'd be ready for the rest of the family reunion. She never noticed when she fell into exhausted sleep again...

 **...**

"Sleep time is over, dearie." The annoyingly superior-sounding voice of the evil grandmother said as another Reviving Spell jolted her out of her bed. Wait, what happened to the cast-iron interrogation chair and the golden chains? She struggled with the overly-fluffy pillows and sheets, the magically soft four-poster bed engulfing her almost like water. Her limbs didn't quite want to respond and the warmth and silky touch of too many layers of gossamer cloth was far too inviting. How long had it been since she'd really rested in the future? Had it really been over a year of constant Auror raids and skirmishes with criminals?

"Come on, now. You've been sleeping for nigh on eight hours." The older witch jumped back at her surprised 'Eeek!' and her now frantic attempts to get up. "Honestly now, youth these days." Now there was a reaction the ex Head Auror was used to. Thanks to having uncommonly strong magic and using it constantly through her entire adult life, even Iris' older form looked only in her mid-twenties. In comparison, the evil grandmother looked, well, grandmotherly. She looked around sixty, which probably meant she was anywhere between seventy and a hundred and thirty given wizard lifespans. Iris really didn't want to see her reaction if she reverted to a six-year-old before her.

"You didn't manage to revert my transfiguration, did you?" She said with some satisfaction. The older witch was way too quick to see her as a child for her liking.

"Anyone knocked out by a simple trap has no business disrespecting their elders." Cassiopeia Black huffed as the new guest of the House of Black conjured some simple black robes wandlessly.

"Uh-uh." Iris hadn't resisted the urge to show off and instantly regretted it as her legs almost buckled beneath her. After working with Hagrid, whose ability to do even basic human transfiguration effectively without a wand would be impressive for anyone, her wandless magic skills had been pretty good in the future. Unfortunately, that seemed to be yet another area where her travel back in time had adversely affected. "Where are my original clothes, by the way?" She tried to focus and make a simple pair of books but failed, until she had an idea. Pulling out a couple of tiny hairs from her left arm she transfigured them into boots, which was far easier than outright conjuring.

"Being washed and mended by Kreacher. How a young lady of our family could wear the same things for days, especially after visiting a place such as Azkaban, I'll never know." She only said that because she hadn't seen Bellatrix yet. "Though you do seem to be capable of providing something better if pushed into it."

"Right." Don't antagonize the Unforgivable-happy Black witch; it was bad for one's health. Though she did wonder who had initially undressed her. She was hoping it had not been one of her "uncles". She knew for a fact most of them had no problems bedding their cousins or a witch half a century their junior. "Kreacher, huh? Will I need to check them for poison later?"

"Naturally, my dear." The older witch said without batting an eyelid. Iris was lucky she'd recognized the apparently insignificant remark for the trap had been. "We are the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, after all."

 **...**

"You will only cast to end the Transformations." Arcturus commanded as several other Blacks had their own wands raised and pointed at her. Cassiopeia was not one of them, which put her even higher in Iris' list of really dangerous people. If you'd already pointed your wand then you were thinking of what spell to cast, not how to follow your target's movements as they jumped away from where you were aiming at then returned fire. Pollux Black was one of the more disagreeable people in the room, always with a sneer ready for both her and Arcturus, though the latter he only showed when his Head of House had his back turned. Shorter, stockier, and coarser than either Arcturus or his own son Cygnus, he seemed to be the most hostile towards her of all the Blacks present. No wonder; with Sirius and Bellatrix dead and Andromeda disinherited, the Malfoys stood to claim the entire Black fortune through his granddaughter Narcissa. Fortunately, he'd not brought along his wife Irma Crabbe - probably because she was even more dimwitted and uncouth than he.

"I believe she understands, Arcturus." Said Melania Black nee Macmillan, Arcturus' wife and the only fairly friendly face in the room. "Stop pestering the girl and let's get this over with." Fairer than her husband, with warmer brown eyes and blondish hair, she really stood out amid the half-dozen Blacks. Cygnus Black nodded agreement with his aunt, to his father's displeasure. His own wife, Druella Black nee Rosier, awaited in silent anticipation. One of the presumed dead in Azkaban had been her daughter, after all.

"If you're wasting our time, girl..." Callidora Black warned. Why would she be in a gathering of the Black family, Iris could not fathom. She distinctly remembered Neville telling her how she'd married into the Longbottoms and never looked back.

Luckily for all involved, Iris was not wasting anybody's time. Raising the Elder Wand she flicked it at both copper coins. One of them glowed red, the other blue. With the same gesture she cast a subtle defensive enchantment on herself. It had been almost three decades ago that she'd seen Albus Dumbledore combine several silent spells into a single casting motion. The technique was extremely useful in both casting more rapidly than you could physically move a wand and disguising what magic you used, especially if one of your spells had no visible effects. Picking the blue coin, she cast a complex counterspell that cancelled not only her own transfiguration but any spells the Blacks may have cast on her while she was asleep. The coin bubbled and rapidly became too large and heavy to hold one-handed, going through several shifts before returning to its original form.

Every person present other than her gasped as Sirius appeared, including Sirius himself. The emaciated man struggled to stay on his feet and Iris quickly gave him a hand. Supporting him with magic would have been easier but she'd been instructed - ordered more like - not to cast any other spells. Not that holding him up was difficult; Sirius had lost so much weight in Azkaban than her battle-hardened older body had no problem supporting his measly hundred pounds. He was not nearly as wasted as he'd have been after over a decade of imprisonment but he still was horribly malnourished.

"Grandfather..." Sirius croaked as soon as he noticed Arcturus standing there like a fish out of water. The older wizard had just suffered through the death of his heir, had just begun to accept it. He must have been devastated, no matter what stoic mask he wore in front of others; no wonder he and the other Blacks had reacted to badly to Iris' arrival. In another shocking act for the kind of family they were members of, the two men embraced fiercely. Iris smiled genuinely for the first time since she'd stepped foot in this house, then returned Bellatrix to her true form as well.

And then all Hell broke loose.

 **...**

"What the Hell were you thinking!"

That was Sirius roaring his displeasure at Bellatrix's presence. Iris couldn't blame him, really. Even under the effects of Felix Felicis it had seemed like a bad idea, only a powerful magical impulse pressing her into the second rescue. Naturally most members of the family failed to see it as a bad thing, especially Druella Rosier. While her reaction had been less emotional than Arcturus', it did seem as if she wasn't the heartless monster Iris had expected.

"I'm getting out of here!' Sirius roared again, and Iris winced: dear auntie Cassiopeia had reentered the room with some medical potions at exactly the wrong moment.

"You're getting nowhere, boy." She stated in an icy voice. "I don't know how Orion and Walburga failed to teach you manners but that is neither here nor there. After a member of this family had to risk her life to break you out of Azkaban, you will be grateful. And you will stay until you've paid back your debt. Going into a war against your own brothers and cousin was monumentally stupid and I won't have you repeating your idiocy. Not that they did any better!" That last had been directed at Bellatrix who'd been watching Sirius getting chewed out with glee. As soon as her aunt's ire focused on her however, the powerful Death Eater's smirk had vanished and she'd even taken a step or two back. Apparently, there was one thing Iris and Bellatrix agreed on: the evil grandmother from Hell was not someone to cross.

"Now if you're done throwing one of your little tantrums, there is still one matter requiring clarification." Cassiopeia Black frowned at an obviously too emotional Arcturus -the older wizard had tears running down his cheeks- and took charge. "While we're grateful for you bringing back two of our own," she formally announced to Iris "your place among us is still in question. Have you some proof to back your claims?"

Iris sighed, slowly returned the Elder Wand to her pocket so as not to appear threatening, and stared at the assembled Blacks. With considerable effort, she Conjured a small but sharp dagger of volcanic glass. It should have been easier than the simple robes she now wore but the effort once again almost knocked her out. Trying and not quite succeeding in not appearing about to drop, she matched her questioner's formal tones.

"This daughter of the House bears no proof of her ancestry but what she owns by blood and magic." Melania and Callidora hissed in surprise and even alarm, while Sirius and Bellatrix looked at their elders in confusion. The other Blacks reacted not at all except by staring at her expressionlessly, even Arcturus. "I demand the Ritual of Association."

Some aspects of Dark Magic were less terrible than others. Blood Sorcery, though largely scorned by the Ministry and many modern wizards, was still essential to the function of Gringotts. Testing and comparing blood and magic against the bank's archives was how the goblins could tell if a witch or wizard truly were who they claimed to be, though those already owning a key had everyday access without the need of blood. The Ritual of Association was similar to those lesser blood tests. Its purpose was to judge whether a given witch and wizard belonged in a family, and had once been used in inheritance disputes. The reason this was no longer the case was that it needed fresh blood samples for comparison, not a dry blood archive, and that if the witch or wizard in question failed that test they perished. Given a much closer and living sympathetic link it was also nigh impossible to fool, unlike Gringotts' methods.

"It will be allowed." Arcturus announced. As Head of House he could have denied her, though that would leave the matter of her ancestry in the air. Not that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would ever shy from Dark Magic. Iris cut her left palm, then handed the Conjured stone dagger to Arcturus so he could do the same. They were about to shake hands, mixing their blood and invoking the ritual, when they were interrupted.

"Conniving bitch." Pollux growled. "Anyone who knows Blood Sorcery could alter themselves enough for a favorable result and she had access to both Sirius and Bellatrix as blood donors. How do we know this wasn't her goal all along, to cheat her way into the family?"

"You always were a right bastard, brother." Cassiopeia said scornfully. "She saves your granddaughter from Azkaban, knows of and accepts the ritual, and you'd cast her away? What would satisfy you, I wonder." Nothing less than his Malfoy relatives gaining control of the House and giving him a large cut of the profits, Iris suspected.

"Our House is strong." Pollux claimed. "We have enough members of the blood here for the sevenfold version, do we not?"

Damn, what the old goat was proposing was brilliant, for him. In theory, she shouldn't have any problems with a more comprehensive test: she was truly related to all Blacks present. Had she been an impostor, however well hidden behind even other forms of ancient magic, what he proposed would reduce her to ashes. But in reality, ritual magic was not always successful and the more factors involved, the greater the chances the ritual failed catastrophically. She'd already been in the receiving end of magical backlash recently and...

"On your own head be it." Arcturus spoke, handing the knife to Pollux. Then the aging Head of House conjured a cup with his wand, clenched his fist and dropped some of his blood in it. Pollux followed, then Cassiopeia and Callidora. Cygnus was slower to make a contribution while Bellatrix seemed eager to join in a form of magic she hadn't seen before. Sirius had to be held at wand-point.

Iris received the full cup by Cassiopeia, who healed the cut on her palm. One last small act of good for someone she expected to die, perhaps? No matter. Holding the cup in both hands, Iris intoned formally.

"I, Iris Black, swear I am member by blood of the House whose name I claim by choice and magic. I stand not in the line of succession to any other, through any means to my knowledge. Let none claim otherwise beyond this day." Then, she drank the blood of her seven relatives. Much like an Unbreakable Vow the magic settled upon her like an enormous weight, threatening to crush her. Fire burned in her veins, the ritual checking the link of blood actually existed. Ice gripped her mind, the vow checking her statement was actually the truth in both word and spirit.

After what seemed like an eternity, the magic's influence waned and Iris was still alive - if barely. Someone prevented her from hitting the cold, hard, stone floor head-first and slowly walked her back to the room she'd slept in for the second time. The only way Iris knew that was because the bed was both familiar and welcome. Like before, she'd seen nothing of the way there or desired to. She remembered how Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been before it had been cleaned up and didn't want to see it again. Besides, the bed was so very warm and soft...

"It is well you survived Pollux's idiocy, girl." Cassiopeia said, interrupting her descent into dreamland. "Id' hate to see my sister Dorea's get burned to ash, illegitimate or not. How I didn't see it earlier, Merlin only knows."

"Uh huh." Iris absentmindedly agreed. Then what the evil grandmother had actually said registered and alarm fought against sleep. "What?!"

"Don't act innocent, youngster." The older witch commanded imperiously. "My memory is as good as it ever was and Dorea in her twenties looked exactly like you do now." She huffed. "Except for the eyes, of course. What possessed my sister to have a child our of wedlock I have no idea, nor do I care to find out. She was supposedly happily married to that old idiot Charlus Potter till the end of her days and that is how it will remain with all others, understand?" That sharp voice brooked no argument and Iris was not prepared to give her one; all she wanted to do at that moment was sleep, preferably for several days. Maybe it was a good thing, having an ally among the older Blacks in her "aunt". Who was she to correct the misconception fate and paradox were responsible for anyway? At that very moment, a familiar pricking sensation signified the end of the Polyjuice potion's effect... and "auntie" Cassiopeia was still in the room.

Morgana's tits, was that going to be awkward...


	6. A perfect response

**alebrewer: We're still on the 'setup' phase. This is going to be a long (probably epic) story, after all.**

 **vyoom: Upbringing is a factor to that. They aren't necessarily nutcases, but they aren't rational at all times either.**

 **Shadowsmage: read on!**

 **Thinker90: that's exactly how Cassiopeia Black cackles. Bellatrix, too. Not sure about Callidora Longbotoom or Dorea Potter (nee Black, both of them), but I would not put it beyond them. 'Course, Dorea died before Lily and James were married (by 'natural causes' at 57)**

 **ReBein: the Black family tree gives a lot more info than you notice at first glance. For example, we know that several Blacks had children at age 13, which means they bedded their would-be wives while they were still second-years in Hogwarts (Pollux was one). We also can see their ties to other families, what children they had and how they must have been raised and, when compared with political and social events of the time, how they were involved and whether their deaths had something to do with the war. From all that and random comments from other canon characters we can guess at personalities and motives - though those are just guesses.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters and plot therein. They all belong to JK Rowling, who did a very nearly perfect job telling her story. I'm merely using them to tell my own free, for fun, entirely nonprofit story.**

 **...**

It was early morning on the 12th of August and, like every Tuesday morning, Privet Drive was bustling with activity. Most of those living in the quiet suburban neighborhood drove the twenty or so miles to London for their jobs at about that hour, while those left behind crammed as many outdoors activities they could early to avoid the higher temperatures later in the day. Amid that much activity the strange visitor was easily missed, despite being very tall, sporting long silver hair and beard, and wearing a brilliant magenta robe studded with silver stars and moons. Tall boots, a bright yellow cloak, and golden half-moon spectacles completed the visitor's absurd attire. Not that the residents of Privet Drive could be blamed for missing such a flamboyant arrival; the tall man was invisible even to his own eyes, after all. He was also entirely silent and nearly weightless, which allowed him to appear in mid-air rather than in a potentially occupied space on the ground and then land as lightly and softly as a feather.

Albus Dumbledore had several reasons for his covert arrival, not the least of which was not to draw attention to the Dursleys and young Harry Potter. If there really was anyone magical watching, especially someone with Darker leaning, he did not want to tip them off that their meddling here had been detected. He would wait and wander unseen, a silent observer to a fairly normal day in the Dursleys' life and only intervene if it was required. He had time: a magical intruder in Harry Potter's life was important enough for him to have cleared his schedule for the whole day. A few officials might complain, Minerva and Severus might need to do a bit longer hours, but it could and would be done.

The first thing Dumbledore noticed pleased him immensely. Harry appeared to be a hard-working boy doing a lot of housework for his age, but not too much as to be dangerous for his growing body and personality. Even better he really didn't seem to mind the work, as his singing, occasional laughs and unrepressed general exuberance indicated. And he did every job very well for his age, from making breakfast, to weeding the lawn, to some light gardening, to washing the dishes. But best of all was how Petunia Dursley failed to confirm his fears of five years ago. Given the history between the Evans sisters he'd expected young Harry to go through an unpleasant, even harsh childhood, but that was a small price to pay to keep him away from politics and Death Eaters - to keep him alive. But Petunia seemed to treat Harry fairly, if a bit coldly. She even paid young Harry for the housework, if grudgingly, small rewards that coupled with the work would help build young Harry's character.

The second thing Dumbledore noticed did not exactly please him, but as things could have been much worse he was content. Harry seemed to be a loner: no friends, not an abundance of love from his relatives, but he was left alone to do as he wished most of the time. The young boy's favourite passtimes appeared to be going for walks in the park and reading. Growing up like this would not really be pleasant but it would later help Harry deal with his fame without embracing it and all going to his head. Being the son of James Potter, there was always a slim possibility he'd grow up a worse bully than his father had been and that was one thing Dumbledore would do much to avoid.

The third thing Dumbledore noticed before intervening was the book. Nothing impressive by the standards of the huge tomes and ancient manuals wizarding libraries favored, it was still not a product of modern muggle technology. Far more alarming than its appearance though, was the effect it had upon young Harry. It took only a few minutes for Dumbledore to recognize one of the spells that must be upon it; each time Harry held it, walked around with it in his hands, nobody but Dumbledore seemed to notice him. The young boy even accidentally tripped a passerby once, the muggle woman neither pausing to offer or receive apologies nor even being aware of her stumble. Only a muggle-repelling charm could work like that and one that strong would be better than invisibility against the residents of Privet Drive. What Harry did under cover of said invisibility - other than reading it of course - nearly frightened the aging Headmaster. The boy would scan the pages intently for a few minutes, mouthing the words -instructions- he read, then use magic - wandlessly and intentionally! Yes, he only moved a few small objects that would fit in one hand and he saw him once changing a flower's color briefly, but that was still beyond impressive for a six-year-old!

The invisible Dumbledore's first intervention in events was merely to see what kind of book youg Harry had been given. Developing one's magical abilities early was dangerous - if not quite dark. Dumbledore knew five people to have done so to any extent - himself included - and most of them ended badly. Unfortunately for the alarmed sorcerer, the book appeared blank in his eyes. Simple revealing spells did nothing and a stronger attempt using the Elder Wand was replied to briefly and directly, in words young Harry did not seem to notice.

 _"Miss Midnight greets Mister Backgammon Player and requests that he keep his abnormally long and knobbly stick away from other people's business."_

Colorful greeting, that - and alarming in its accuracy. Its alluding to several of Dumbledore's most closely-held secrets was reason enough for the ancient sorcerer to take it seriously. But who could have written it, and by extension given Harry the book? Taking the phrasing at face value would not be very wise. Anyone could claim to be something in an anonymous missive without it being the truth. No, the use of late 18th century British slang was more revealing and narrowed the list of suspects down considerably. Why would any ancient witch and wizard interfere with Harry Potter and Dumbledore's plans at that moment though? And how would they know so much? Perhaps the interior of the house would prove more enlightening.

For a wizard, invisible or otherwise, only courtesy and propriety kept them out of muggle buildings no matter what security measures muggles came up with. The ability to Apparate alone allowed someone to circumvent most mundane barriers and hazards. With this alarming turn of events requiring Dumbledore examine everything closely, violating the Dursleys' privacy was decided upon in all of three seconds. Appearing in their living room, the Chief Warlock went about his business of ferreting out dangerous influences with a purpose. Five minutes later, he stood transfixed over the sleeping form of what must have once been Dudley Dursley. The young boy - not yet seven years old - sported a pig's snout and tail, his arms and legs were halfway into becoming those of a pig, and even his body had been distorted by the horrible transformation.

What kind of monster could do that to a child? Dumbledore wondered, no longer having any doubts about the nature of the unknown witch or wizard. Raising his wand once again he furiously cast his strongest Untransfiguration, only to frown when it failed to end the transformation. Not a transfiguration or a curse then, unless it was powerful enough to resist Dumbledore's efforts when he wielded the Elder Wand. Given that his mystery opponent was a witch or wizard, the probability of it being wild magic from a magical creature was low. A potion then - this complicated matters. Despite his talent in Alchemy, he'd never advanced beyond master level in Potions. Potioneers like Severus or Horace exceeded his abilities in that branch of magic and would know how to help... but to bring them here or take the child to them? A difficult decision. Further investigation might reveal key information.

Careful examination of the small suburban house revealed a case of medical potions the Dursleys or Harry could neither have produced nor purchased themselves. They appeared to be high-quality untransfiguration draughts based off mandrake extract. Very good at countering minor to moderate mishaps, but of limited use against such an extensive change. A full dose of pure mandrake extract could have ended Dudley Dursley's torment within an hour: those potions would require long treatment that might well last a year. Could the Dark wizard who afflicted the poor child want precisely that - prolonged suffering that would intimidate and cow the Dursleys? And how was Harry connected to all that?

Unfortunately, the house had no other clues to give. Dumbledore did not make such a decision lightly but the situation warrented it: it was time for Legilimency. Not on the children of course. The Mind Arts could have profound effects on still-developing young minds, especially those of a muggle child. No, Petunia Dursley was a far better candidate and probably had a better understanding of the situation as well. Finding her in the living room watching the telly also afforded Dumbledore a great opportunity for prolonged eye contact. Being invisible, he did not interrupt her line of sight and could look into her eyes while she watched the muggle news with her entirely unaware...

Dumbledore left Privet Drive two hours later with a heavy heart and a heavy book held in one hand. What he'd learned had been far worse than his most pessimistic expectations, for the image of happiness was just that: an image. He'd delved into countless memories of child abuse in the mind of Petunia Dursley. Jealousy and hatred had twisted her to an alarming degree over the years, and her nephew's presence and her venomous words had been enough to poison her husband's attitude against young Harry. What the Boy-Who-Lived had lived through in the first six years of his life might not have been as ugly as the worst cases of child-rearing in the Dark Families, but it was still bad. Even worse, Dumbledore was certain that the situation would have continued unchanged if not for the intervention of the unknown witch or wizard who had bound the Dursleys in a magical contract. He could not condone the heavy-handed methods employed and the trauma caused to another child but he could see why many a witch or wizard could act as they did.

Had the unknown visitor stumbled into Harry Potter's location somehow, happy to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, only to uncover a history of abuse? Had they, in their rage, struck back more than was warranted to ensure Harry's safety rather than for any sinister motives? Dumbledore did not know but was going to find out. The magical book should help with that - nowhere was the mettle of man shown more clearly than in ideas written by their own hand. Young Harry would not miss it much for the day or two it would take to uncover its secrets; once the contents were confirmed to be safe and analyzed for clues, Dumbledore could easily return it. If on the other hand they were proven to be dangerous ideas leading young Harry down a dark path, measures would have to be taken. The aging Headmaster Portkeyed himself back to Hogwarts. Undetectable by the Minisrty and able to ignore simple Anti-Disapparition Jinxes, it was the best way to be fast and discreet both, for Dumbledore had no time to lose.

There was much work to be done.

 **...**

"Explain this to me. Slowly and clearly. It better be the truth and make sense, if you know what's good for you." Arcturus Black scowled down at the apparent six-year-old before him. Falling back to the expressions and words he'd used on his unruly daughter Lucretia came surprisingly easily despite the more than half a century since he'd last used them, but also brought bad memories. Memories of how the strange wasting sickness who seemed to hit the Black family on occasion had left her unable to bear children and had taken her at the young age of sixty-seven. Being reminded of it was bittersweet after the return of his grandson earlier today, and a good reason to fix the young witch before him with his famous glower.

"Umm..." the girl fidgeted uncomfortably, not unlike any child of the age she now appeared to be. "Where to begin..."

"At the beginning, dear." Arcturus' cousin Cassiopeia said firmly but not angrily. Upon the young woman's surprising reversion to the body of a six-year-old, she'd quickly stunned the girl and locked up the room so no other family member could stumble upon this new development. Then she'd come back to the gathering, promptly ushering the still unsteady Sirius and Bellatrix into the baths with dire injunctions against their attempting to kill each other - it would be so very unseemly. The older generation had been packed up in the various guest chambers for now and a surprised Melania had been left in charge of them while the family's darkest witch dragged Arcturus into 'important matters that could not wait.'

"All right." The girl seemed to find her composure once more, now speaking in a clipped, rapid tone Arcturus recognized very well: it was the one he used when he'd trouble keeping emotions at bay and did not want others in the family - Pollux, especially - to hear any weakness in his words. "There was once a young pureblood witch growing up in a fading but brutal family. So bad was her upbringing that her confidence in her magic was damaged, and she was all but a squib. That did not endear her to her family, of course."

"It happens." Cassiopeia commented neutrally. "My brother Marius was born an actual squib, something that annoyed old Cygnus something fierce. He was disinherited at eleven - and was all the better for it. I hear he runs a muggle corporation these days."

"Unfortunately for all involved, she couldn't be disinherited." The girl continued. "The family was fading and needed the last two children to continue the legacy. To the father's rage, the daughter fell in love with a very handsome local muggle."

"Amusing as such a tale undoubtedly will be," Arcturus interjected "what does it have to do with your... situation?"

"It is not amusing at all!" The girl's eyes flashed angrily and the furniture rattled. A deep crack appeared on a nearby wall and reminded Arcturus of what Cassiopeia had said of the girl's wandless abilities. If controlled conjuration was not beyond her, Arcturus did not want to see a full-blown bout of accidental magic in anger. "And it has everything to do with this debacle. The family was broken over that incident, see. And the girl, temporarily left without their relatives' overbearing influence, proved capable enough of brewing Amortentia, and getting both the muggle she wanted and a son-to-be. Unfortunately she, perhaps foolishly, grew to despise her own control of the man she loved. She stopped dosing him and he left her. Alone and pregnant, she could barely survive on her own."

"Typical teenage idiocy." Said Cassiopeia with a scowl.

"Indeed. The girl died at childbirth, the son was sent to an orphanage." The girl kept talking, voice bereft of emotion. "He was found years later by Albus Dumbledore. He was invited to Hogwarts, became a model student, and discovered his true heritage. This is where it becomes interesting." Now their tiny narrator sneered. "Enraged, the young man turns from the successful future his hunger for power was taking him to into one of revenge and madness. He murders another student and conceals the fact. He murders his father and that side of his family, letting his last remaining maternal relative - his uncle - to take the blame."

"Interesting." Both Black cousins said at the same time. The girl doesn't pay much attention.

"He graduates, finds employ under a shady antiques dealer, murders a client from an ancient family that had something he much desired. He then vanishes, going out into the world for ten years, killing and studying the Dark Arts. Then he comes back." The girl fixes both older Blacks with a furious gaze. "He presents himself as someone else, fostering hidden supporters in some of the rich and the powerful. Deceiving many of his origins, he turns them against other purebloods under the guise of pureblood supremacy."

"Stop!" Arcturus says, disturbed. The girl's words ring true and somehow familiar but... "That can't be right. When did this happen? Why would any Purebloods follow a halfblood under obviously false pretenses? A halfie becoming a leading pureblood supremacist? Preposterous!"

"Why indeed?" Cassiopeia says in a strangely distant voice, as if she's thinking too hard about something to fully focus on the discussion. "I believe I know where this is going, Arcturus. You were nearly a generation behind my time, and I nearly a generation behind the time of this story. I have heard certain... rumors. High time we saw whether they are true - let the girl finish." The old witch stared down at the too-young narrator. "But if you're leading us on, child, you will not enjoy what follows. You might survive it but I assure you, you won't recover from it."

"I see." The girl's eyes narrow, her entire posture showing that while she's aware of her precarious position, she will not back down. "There are too many sides in the events that follow, society fragmented by secret goals hidden behind masks. Many are slaughtered, among them my own close family. I narrowly survive where others do not. Years later when the conflict again intensifies, when it is about to come into the open, I learn of my past and who was responsible for my closest relatives' deaths. Growing into my heritage, I confront the bastard. We fight twice in secret, once in open battle, and through much luck and some skill I get the better of those engagements. It is too late, though. The bastard has already slaughtered many, caused enormous damage all but impossible to heal, destroyed most of what I held dear."

"I see." Arcturus said. He didn't. He was still confused as to what conflict the story was referring to, or why his normally stoic cousin would be so upset. Perhaps if...

"Dorea?" Cassiopeia asked, a bit pale. What did her lost sister have to do with this?

"Among the dead." The girl said. Wait, what? His other cousin had inexplicably died of natural causes at fifty-seven! Arcturus didn't get to voice his objection though: the story continued. "All that I'd worked for lost, or soon to be, I made one last attempt to fix things. It failed in part and now here I am, three and a half decades younger due to magical backlash. I carry too many secrets of many important people involved, the so-called leaders of the two publicly visible sides included. A single insane man's action's and another fearful man's inactions are responsible for the end of my world and my current condition."

"Well, that explains why you didn't go to Dumbledore." Cassiopeia mused. "I suppose you're willing to take a Vow on that story being true?"

The girl offered her hand to the old witch without question and his cousin kicked Arcturus in the shin when he took too long to react to it. Letting his many questions aside for the moment, the Black patriarch pointed at the linked hands with his wand.

"Do you swear that this story is true in its entirety?" He asked.

"I do." No hesitation from the girl.

"Do you swear that, unlike the insane man in the story, you have only the betterment of the wizarding world as your goal?"

"I do." Again no hesitation. Now for the hard part.

"Do you swear to be a loyal member of this House, respect its traditions and authority, in exchange for safe haven, fair membership, and our help in taking down the man that wronged you?"

His cousin hissed and the girl glared at him angrily but Arturus was unmoved. He did not trust the apparent six-year-old, no matter that she'd been proven to be a member of his House rather thoroughly after Pollux's idiocy. The younger generation had proven themselves thoroughly unreliable in their taking up sides and getting killed for the Dark Lord and if another Dark Lord were to come in the near-future, he was not about to let them make their own decisions. If the girl wanted his help as Head of House she had to place herself under the guidance of older, wiser heads - at least until she was proven ready to take a leading position herself. No witch who could break in and out of Azkaban despite a serious handicap could be weak and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black needed strong leaders if it was to survive; Arcturus and Cassiopeia wouldn't live forever. He planned to get Sirius and Bellatrix under similar oaths - they had their own enormous failures to atone for. And if the girl refused to follow? She was -apparently- a grown woman. He'd offer her some indirect support but otherwise let her make her own mistakes.

"I do" The girl growled after nearly five minutes of hard thingking and gnashing her teeth. The Vow settled between her and Cassiopeia with a flash and he lowered her wand. It would remain until the death of one of the two women, unless he chose to end it early.

"Excellent." He said brusquely, secretly happy that events had played out in the House of Black's favor. "Who is this up-and-coming Dark Lord you need help with?" Despite its slow decline, the House of Black still had enormous resources. They could probably deal with one Dark Wizard, no matter how powerful. And if not, they could certainly play the new player against the established powers, subtly directing either Dumbledore or the last and unlamented Dark Lord's many surviving followers against him.

Still glowering petulantly, the girl raised her wand and drew upon the air with a _Flagrante_ spell.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

With a deft flourish that was jarring to see in one so seemingly young, she rearranged the letters in something a little more... familiar.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

...bollocks.


	7. A perfect proof

**frakieu: hoping this chapter won't disappoint then!**

 **Shadowsmage: thanks**

 **Disclaimer: Did Regulus ask Albus Dumbledore for help or even order Kreacher to take the locket to him with an explanation? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and whoever she's sold the rights to.**

 **...**

Iris slowly woke up from a dreamless sleep, for once in her life not plagued by nightmares. It was an amazing feeling, to let go of all responsibilities and let another make the hard decisions, if only for a time. She'd been sleeping in the incredibly soft, luxurious, elaborately decorated four-poster bed for two nights and two days while Arcturus and Cassiopeia were having a huge brainstorming session about everything they needed to do. She had tried to take part in it of course - she'd always hated it when older people made any decisions for her without consulting her - but after the third time she'd almost drifted to sleep during a discussion on how to keep Sirius and Bellatrix hidden from the Ministry, the Grandmother from Hell had put her foot down and ordered her to sleep. Iris had been too tired to argue - and now was glad that she hadn't.

Did her younger body need more sleep to function? Probably - but somehow Iris couldn't find it in herself to curse her fate for that. She stretched under the sheets, loving how the absurdly expensive silk slid over her skin and relaxed, prepared to enjoy this perfect experience for as long as it lasted. Rich or not, she'd never had the time to truly enjoy anything extravagant in her past. Hell, the last time she'd slept in had been back in her Hogwarts years and even back then, most times it had been in a hospital bed rather than the Gryffindor dormitories. Of course, not even perfection could last forever - the universe would not allow it.

"You dare say that to my face, you gormless uphill gardener?!"

Wow, someone sure was angry to be heard all the way up to the guest quarters. Either Bellatrix was using the Voice Amplification Charm or she had a great future ahead of her as an opera singer. Who would have thunk it? Out of some strange fascination for total disasters, Iris rose from her bed, conjured a robe and slippers, and picked up her purse and the Elder Wand. Thus armed and armored, she descended to confront idiotic cousins. At least being physically tiny had one advantage; conjured clothing was so much smaller and thus easier to manage.

"At least I wasn't Voldemort's personal slag, you barmy cow!"

Oh great. Sirius was encouraging his half-mad cousin. Then again, nobody had accused her former godfather of being a mental giant. Given their mental maturity, Iris had been unsurprised to discover in the future/past that Sirius and Bellatrix were actually her cousins. She was the granddaughter of Dorea Black, while they both were grandchildren of her brother Pollux. Having met the man and suffered his own version of the Black insanity, she had no trouble believing the family tapestry was correct on that fact. Of course Sirius was also Arcturus' grandson since Orion had married his first cousin Walburga, but that was neither here nor there.

BOOM!

Progress: they'd gone from childish insults to arguing with Blasting Curses. That upgraded their mental age from about five to maybe sixteen. Perhaps grandmother Cassiopeia's belief that Iris was Dorea's illegitimate daughter was a better fit here. That would make her a generation older than the former Azkaban inmates and obviously more mature and responsible, despite her currently having the body of a six-year-old.

"Viscera Expulso!"

"Corpus Exsiccare!"

"Are you out of your bloody minds?!" Iris shouted as she entered the sitting room the two cousins had turned into an impromptu dueling ring. The room looked like it had been bombed, not a single piece of furniture remaining intact, its walls scorched and blackened. A sofa had been shredded by a Cutting Curse, several chairs and a table had been reduced to kindling by the Blasting Curse she'd heard a minute before arriving, the surface of the stone floor and walls was melted in places by gouts of cursed fire, several small statues and a chandelier were shattered in odd ring-shaped patterns around the two combatants, which indicated they'd been the focus of Offensive Animation Jinxes that splashed against strong shields. Obviously the battle had been going on for some time, probably through the use of nonverbal magic while they still traded insults. Perhaps a Silencing Charm to prevent the rest of the house from hearing the chaos, which had been overpowered by the Blasting Curse? Iris didn't care much about a few broken antiques but she did care about all her hard work being undone. She hadn't risked her life to save Sirius only to see him die horribly under Bellatrix's Flesh-Withering Curse. And despite her misgivings, the powerful impulse from Felix Felicis that had urged her to save Bellatrix as well probably meant the evil woman would prove useful in her future plans - having her die to Sirius' Entrail-Expelling Curse was not an option, no matter how satisfying it might be.

"Get lost, ankle-biter." Bellatrix said, unconvinced she should listen to the six year old.

"Yeah, yeah, kid." Sirius agreed with his cousin for once. "The adults are talking now."

For some reason, Iris doubted that. Come to think of it though, did anyone other than Arcturus and Cassiopeia know of her de-aging? If not... the former Head Auror smirked nastily. It wouldn't do to let this perfect opportunity to take the two Blacks by surprise go to waste. As Sirius and Bellatrix were about to continue their little spat, she brandished the Elder Wand like a sword and a silvery whip sprung from its tip, wrapping itself around Sirius. Before the surprised wizard could react, lightning arced down the whip's coils and over his body, shocking him like a powerful tazer.

"What the..."

She hadn't forgotten about Bellatrix. Leaving Sirius to tango with her modification of Dumbledore's fire-whip, she launched a column of conjured water at the Black witch. A direct hit that must have felt like Hagrid's fist launched her into the wall behind; that much water going at that speed hurt. That wasn't the end of it though. The water flowed upwards before Bellatrix could recover, engulfing her from head to toe in a watery prison. She struggled feebly but over a ton of water moved by an animating force powerful enough to hurl it around like that would have outmuscled your average troll. Like her master so many years ago, Bellatrix could not get rid of it. Unlike her master, the air in her lungs had all been expelled by the initial blow so her frantic reactions were brief.

A third flick of the Elder Wand vanished both lightning whip and animated water, leaving a still shaking Sirius lying helpless on the floor and a half-drowned and battered Bellatrix gasping for air. Neither would be in any position to duel any time soon but just in case Iris summoned their wands to her off hand. Who in their right mind had given the two of them wands and left them to their own devices anyway? Iris needed to know who to have a few words -punctuated by creative use of Transfiguration- with.

"Are you two quite done?" she demanded of the two cousins.

"Kill you..." came Bellatrix's creative reply, almost lost amid efforts to expell the remaining water in her lungs.

"You'll have to get out of the drowned cat phase before you can do that." The former Girl-Who-Lived said, returning with interest future-Bellatrix's mocking in the Department of Mysteries. "Hey, here's an idea. Maybe next time I'll transfigure you into an actual cat and _then_ nearly drown you."

"So young yet so harsh." Sirius said in the perpetually joking tone that was not nearly as funny as he seemed to believe. "Who are you, kid?"

"Get up!" Iris snapped, ignoring the question for a moment. "I didn't save you from Azkaban so you could kill each other."

"You..." Bellatrix growled, then frowned in confusion. Prolonged oxygen deprivation and serving Dark Lords were known to diminish one's faculties, after all. "How come... you look... like that?"

"Magical backlash." Iris said, trying not to sound bitter. "Happens when sufficiently powerful enemies mess up your life. Now, why were you two idiots trying to blow up Grimmauld Place with me inside it?"

"Because she and her friends GOT MY BROTHER KILLED!" Sirius roared and tried to strangle his cousin with his bare hands. Still feeling the aftereffects of his recent shock therapy, he stumbled into Bellatrix and they both fell down on the floor. They tumbled and struggled, neither able to put much effort into it. Sirius' muscles would take anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour to fully recover and Bellatrix had very nearly drowned not two minutes ago. Seeing as he didn't have the strength to strangle her, Iris' former godfather put both hands on his cousin's face, trying to suffocate her instead. The dark witch frantically punched and kicked but with Sirius' weight on her and most of her strength gone, she couldn't do much. So she bit his hand, then kneed him in the twigs and berries. Sirius moaned and collapsed on top of her. Iris couldn't help it; she gave a really girlish giggle at how ridiculous the two of them looked.

"Gee Sirius," she said. "Are you trying to kill her or shag her?" Given the Black family history both were possibilities, in any order.

"Shut up and get this manky wanker off me!" Bellatrix demanded with a threatening glower while Sirius kept moaning. Sighing, Iris flicked her wand and the two cousins floated in mid-air, showing in just how dismal a condition they were. The former Head Auror would have preferred the issue of Regulus to have been left until later - much later - but the two of them left her with no choice. She really couldn't let them kill each other.

"Kreacher!"

 **...**

"Any new insights, Severus?" Albus Dumbledore asked of his much younger confidant. After using all the detection spells he knew on the blank pages of the book and finding nothing, he'd been forced to admit defeat. Given the seriousness of the matter and the potential influence of dark witches and wizards on Harry himself, he'd turned to the one person who might know enough about the Dark Arts to help of whose loyalty Dumbledore was certain. Severus would never do something to endanger young Harry on his own, and after his oaths to Dumbledore he could not do it even if pressured.

"Only one." Severus had always been a man of few words, if elaborate. "Words written in one's own blood can be made visible only to those who have a blood relation with the writer. The closer the blood relation required, the harder it is to break the spell. Messages between siblings, or between mother and child would be beyond even your means to read."

"An interesting trick from a mostly forgotten branch of magic, though I fail to see how it could apply here." Dumbledore said more to himself than the young Potions Master. "Harry Potter has no surviving relatives with that degree of kinship."

"Then an explanation is beyond me." The former Death Eater admitted. "Certainly someone with greater skill in the Dark Arts than I could make blood script more secure but a link of blood would still be required. As there is only one surviving Potter, you know what this means."

Dumbledore certainly did. The House of Black had found out the residence of the Boy-Who-Lived.

 **...**

"...and here is the weird child, standing before Kreacher bold as brass. Kreacher can feel it; he has to obey the brat's commands but knows not why."

Good, old, passive-agressive Kreacher. Iris had become very fond of the decrepit house elf in the future, quirks, warts, and all. She had helped him follow Regulus' final command and treated him decently as Regulus had done and in return he'd not only fought in the Battle of Hogwarts for her but also convince a small army of house elves to do the same. She had been sorry to see him finally succumb to old age and the countless punishments he'd endured in his life a mere two years before her trip back in time. She'd hoped to help him again in this new timeline, but the old plan had not foreseen the presence of any surviving Blacks. Yet another complication she'd have to deal with; Iris was rapidly becoming sick of them.

"Kreacher..." she asked firmly but not unkindly "Where is Regulus' locket?" The elf's eyes bulged comically at the question.

"How does the weird child know to ask!?" The elf demanded angrily. "When has she been spying on poor Kreacher?"

"I have been to the cave by the sea, seen the lake full of inferi." She answered, forestalling any more angry muttering. "I know how Regulus died." Sirius hissed then, and begun struggling against the invisible bonds that held him up. Not that he got anywhere, in his condition. "What have you done with the locket, Kreacher?" She finally asked gently.

"Kreacher failed, failed, failed!" The elf cried. "Poor master Regulus ordered Kreacher to destroy it but Kreacher's strongest magic proved useless. Poor master Regulus died for nothing. Nothing!"

"What locket are we talking about?" Sirius asked over the aging elf's sobs.

"The locket of Salazar Slytherin." Iris said soberly. "The artifact Regulus gave his life to destroy, the proof that your brother died a hero and to what madness the so-called Dark Lord was willing to sink into." She scowled at Bellatrix. "Oh, I almost forgot. It is also the source of Voldemort's immortality."

"WHAT?" Both cousins gaped at her incredulously and now Bellatrix too was trying to escape.

"Through this artifact Voldemort ensured protection from death and loss of his own sanity." She went on to explain, giving them only part of the truth. "Becoming less than a man, Voldemort thus foiled the plans of many. Those that saw in him a leader would get only a monster, its mind as warped as its body. Plagued by madness, the monster would destroy the wizarding world rather than lead it to greatness. Those that wanted to use him would also fail. Insane as the monster was, it could not be controlled and as it was immortal it could not be slain; it would outlive them all, an eternal tyrant. Those that fought him had no hope for he could not be destroyed." She stared at Sirius then, seeing her former godfather's face paling. "And those that had an infantile infatuation for the monster? The most pitiable of all, for the monster had cut out its own heart, mutilated its own soul, and could never return their affection even if it ever wanted to."

"You lie!" Bellatrix denied uselessly.

"Why would I? You can soon have the locket and examine it yourself, learn the truth of my words. You're capable enough for that." If knowing of Tom Riddle's half-blood nature had not been enough to change Bellatrix's mind about him, Iris had to see if the death of her dreams would do it - either for her crush on Voldemort, or for a stronger Wizarding Britain under his control.

"But Voldemort was destroyed!" Sirius now argued. "Harry Potter ended him!"

"Is that what Dumbledore told you? Somehow I doubt it." Iris said. She had her own problems with her old Headmaster but that wasn't one of them. "Dumbledore knows of Voldemort's survival. That is one reason he sent Harry Potter to grow up secluded from the wizarding world. I am not sure he knows how Voldemort managed it..." In fact, she knew Dumbledore did not "but he's aware of Voldemort's attempts at immortality."

She turned to Kreacher again, laying a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder. Blimey, she hardly was any taller than the tiny thing now!

"Kreacher, can you go get the locket for us?" She requested and the elf's ears perked up. "It is time for the scions of House Black to do their duty and finish the task Regulus set you seven years ago."

 **...**

Irma Crabbe fled Number 4 Grimmaluld Place under cover of her husband's best invisibility cloak and as many secrecy charms as she could manage. When the invitations for the family gathering had come, Pollux had known Arcturus would bind all who arrived with new oaths to the Head of House and swear them in secrecy. The old man was nothing if not shrewd. That was why Irma had had to spend two days transfigured to a ring her husband wore in his right index finger. Before Arcturus had sent most of the family members away, Pollux had returned her to her human form and given her the cloak and wands from the family vault.

Her husband had had a simple plan to curse the old Head of House into following his dead grandson into an early grave. After Sirius and Bellatrix had been returned to them unexpectedly, that plan had turned into one that would get the two cousins dead at each other's hands. Irma had failed in both. But she'd also learned many secrets over the past two days, dangerous, frightening secrets her husband would be eager to know. Problem was, Irma was not sure whether she should share them.

Things would have been so much easier if not for the girl, the one Cassiopeia believed to be Dorea's illegitimate get. Irma had overheard the old bat's discussion with Arcturus on that exact matter and had wondered whether getting rid of the girl would advance her husband's plans. Not so after that little display back in that living room. Anyone who could take out Bellatrix and Sirius both was not someone Irma would risk facing in a fight; she loved her own life too much. Yes, the girl had taken them by surprise, but those transfigurations had been scary. The knowledge she'd revealed in the discussion that followed even more so.

What was she to do now?


	8. A perfect gathering

**frankieau: Irma Crabbe is not the mother of any oafs. Her children are Walburga, Alphard and Cygnus. While her first daughter was a bitch in life and insane in death, she was never stupid. We'll return to Harry soon enough.**

 **ReBein: You'll love this chapter then.**

 **Arashi IV of VI: thanks!**

 **RebeccaRoy: Not exactly. You might notice that some of it is edited out, or reflavored to fit Iris' backstory. Not lies of course, but the truth given from a certain point of view.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Patil Twins know Pansy Parkinson before their arrival at Hogwarts? If yes, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and this story is only for fun.**

 **...**

"Oh, come on!" Iris complained as they walked to an apparition point out of sight. The discovery of two unknown wands had put Number 4 Grimmauld Place into lockdown, many of the adults extending the invisible protective bubble beyond the house itself so as to have a warning against further unwelcome visitors.

"Yes, because you'll convince me you don't have to pretend to be a child by actually behaving like one." Cassiopeia said with a smirk. "If Bellatrix and Sirius have to go to bed early and without wands for behaving like children, you can accompany me to this unofficial get-together as the newest Black Scion. You do look the part after all." Neither of the two Black cousins knew where those wands had come from, only that they had appeared on their beds right before the two of them had planned to withdraw for the night. The possibility of unknown, unseen wizards or witches inside the building had seen the recovery of a severed troll leg from storage, an item Iris knew very well. It had been cursed to make all unwelcome visitors who passed it by stumble upon it and placed next to the entrance as an umbrella stand.

"Where is the gathering going to happen?" Iris asked, suppressing the first sullen reply that had come to her mind. Resisting the impulses of her six-year-old body became hard at times. Then an idea gave birth to new hope in her mind. "Is the Black family actually invited?" She asked eagerly, suspecting the answer given her House's reputation.

"Ottery St. Catchpol. A small village in Devon with a surprisingly high number of wizarding families." Iris didn't need the aging Black witch to tell her that. Many of her future friends had lived there, the extended Weasley clan first among them. Maybe they were hosting? If so, the Black family certainly had not been invited. "It's an opportunity for influential wizarding families to show off the new generation for the first time." Her 'aunt' continued with an amused chuckle that didn't bode well. The more dismal, narrow alleys of London stretched around them now - soon they'll be away from both the anti-disapparation jinx and prying eyes. "As such, nobody bothered to uninvite us. They could afford to be gracious and send an open invitation, secure in the knowledge that our House, and other undesirables from their point of view, did not have any new members to show off. Unfortunately for them, now we do." She finished with a smirk.

Oh joy. Warfare at a sociopolitical level carried out by the wives, mothers, and grandmothers of the old Houses, with preteen children playing the role of ground forces. Why was she not surprised? Though that begged the question of what she had to do in such a gathering. If she was going to be passed around like a cute little doll on display and suffer on the receiving end of false compliments from middle-aged witches that mashed their words as if talking to a two-year-old... some people might suffer accidents. It was called accidental magic, after all.

"Don't scowl at me like that, young lady." Cassiopeia admonished. Iris didn't know what expression her face had taken at that moment, but it probably wasn't good. "You wouldn't have to do this if my idiotic grandnephew had provided a heir instead of getting locked up or one of my grandnieces had deigned to continue the bloodline with a wizard that wasn't a heir from another House." The grandmother from Hell gave such a nasty snarl at nobody in particular that Iris could have sworn milk would curdle at a hundred paces and dragons all over Europe would be jealous. Her words however gave Iris an idea that might net the family and Iris' plans some future benefits.

"What about Andromeda and her daughter?" The elder witch's reaction was immediate but not unexpected. She stopped walking as if rooted to the spot and stared down at Iris with frightening intensity.

"What about Andromeda's daughter?" she asked slowly and expressionlessly.

"She is a very talented witch." Iris said neutrally, waiting to see whether her older relative would explode as the portrait of Walburga Black had done. "Top of her class despite being a Hufflepuff, and a metamorphmagus."

"You'd better learn some subtlety if you want to convince Arcturus of that, girl." Cassiopeia said with that same intensity but no hint of anger. "Walburga, Cygnus, and Pollux convinced Orion to cast her out of the family for her defiance, and now that his son is dead my cousin won't want to overturn that decision." The old witch shook her head. "You teach someone all her life that ambition and will is everything and then you try to punish her when she does as she decides she wants to instead of as you do? Idiots. At least the girl had the presence of mind to stay out of the war, which is more than I can say for anyone else in the last two generations."

So not every older Black was as much a bigot as the more prominent members of the family. Iris wondered if the older witch could become a close ally in her attempts to reform her family. If only Cassiopeia wasn't so quick to use the Dark Arts...

 **...**

To Iris' great relief, she had not been required to join in political warfare so far. They'd Apparated at the foot of a grass-covered low hill only a couple of miles from the village proper, then climbed on foot up the fairly steep but short incline to the top. Iris could feel the invisible weight of many protective enchantments forming a bubble around the place and realized she should have expected something like that. Casual social outing or not, the influential wizarding families of Britain would not leave their children without powerful protection. If somebody's manor was not neutral enough or too formal a location for the occasion, their picnic would be just as safe for everyone.

The top of the hill and the surrounding view brought a sense of Deja Vu; she'd been here before in the future but couldn't remember when or why. There were a couple of tables full of expensive food and drinks and seats for the dozen or so adults -mostly witches- she didn't recognize. Conjuration and expansion and refilling charms made catering easy for any event she supposed, but the food didn't interest her much. A tall, middle-aged man with greying brown hair, a square jaw and an easy smile was the only familar face: Amos Diggory. She suspected she'd met a few of the others in the future as well, but the decades she'd traveled made too much of a difference. Cassiopeia Black smirked at the stares the two of them were getting. As she prepared to do battle through social means, the aging Black witch whispered to Iris' ear.

"Go and mingle with the kids. I'll introduce you later once I've prepared the ground a bit and routed the worst of the enemy."

Rolling her eyes, Iris ran to where over a dozen preteen witches and wizards were playing. Some of them simply talked and laughed, others were playing with a pair of animated toys, but the largest group had gathered around a blond boy wielding a toy wand. The former Head Auror was shocked to recognize a miniature, six-year-old Draco Malfoy. Recognition came not only due to his perfectly gelled hair, upturned nose and rather distinctive eyes, but also from what she was doing.

"Come on, you've had your turn!" A lithe redhead girl complained, trying to get the toy wand back from the Malfoy boy. She seemed a bit familiar, as did her sullen blonde friend with the adorable pigtails that tentatively approached as well.

"Yeah, Draco. It's been half an hour!" A dark-skinned girl with asian indian features and long black hair stated. "We want our turn, too!" her identical twin said, heir hair being caught in a long braid the only difference between them. Were those... the Patil twins?!

"Don't be such a baby!" A pug-faced girl with a baby's voice came to Draco's defense. "After all, Draco is the best with the wand."

"Now, now ladies. No need to fight." Admonished a slightly older but much taller boy as the Patil twins were about to engage the young Pansy Parkinson. Strong jaw, brown hair, big eyes, easy smile. Iris' heart almost seized in shock. Even as a nine year old, Cedric Diggory brought back painful thoughts, bitter regrets. Iris didn't know if she should approach or run for it. Noone here knew her yet but she remembered - and didn't want to.

"Come on, mate!" A burly boy with too-wide mouth and overly large teeth elbowed the future Hufflepuff champion and martyr. "Bit o' hair-pulling never hurt anyone." Marcus Flint instantly regretted his words when Pansy kicked him in the knees, the Patil twins jumped him from the left and a short, mousy-looking brunette started beating him with a stick while the other girls pulled at his hair. "Help! Help! Somebody! Anybody!" Several of the kids laughed at his predicament and a few started giving suggestions. While this was going on, Draco Malfoy got bored and started twirling and pointing the wand randomly. He managed to produce a spark that arced several feet and hit a young Italian boy that yelped loudly then glowered back at the blond. Before he could do anything though, two large, round, burly boys walked up to Malfoy's left and right. Great, Crabbe and Goyle were there as well.

Iris sighed, cursed her fate, then walked up to the group and said. "Hand over the wand, Malfoy."

"Why should I?" The blond immediately countered. "And who are you anyway?"

"Black. Iris Black." As soon as she'd said that, the whole group fell quiet. The name did carry some weight so she might as well use it. "And as others said, you've had your turn. Set someone else have some fun."

"Make me!" The blond said obstinately, crossing his arms as his two bodyguards flanked him on either side. Everyone else stared from him to Iris and back, expressions ranging from fascination, to caution, to gleeful anticipation. The former Girl-Who-Lived turned six-year-old felt like bashing her head against a table at how quickly she'd become the center of attention - again. Why were the only choices presented to her a Wizarding World going to the dogs, or her doing something about it personally? Not that Malfoy was any sort of a challenge - it was the principle of the matter.

"If you're sure." The only challenge was how to do this without doing something impossible or causing too much of a scene. She decided to copy Malfoy for once; pointing a finger at him, she jolted him with a spark as he'd done to the other boy. Draco yelped and dropped the toy wand. His bodyguards advanced on her, but were stopped by two more sparks. If that had been all she could do and the three of them had been any smarter she couldn't have stopped them. The sparks didn't hurt more than a punch after all and there were three of them. However, the display of controlled magic -however minor- coupled with a confidence no six year old would ever have made all the difference.

"Look, I just made you." She mocked as if she were truly a six-year-old. She picked up the dropped toy wand and handed it over to the redhead girl that had asked for it.

"Thanks!" The girl said, surprised. "You aren't bad for a Black. I'm Susan, by the way. Susan Bones." Of course she was. Iris should have recognized her from Dumbledore's Army or the Auror corps. In her defense, those events had been ten and twenty years in the future, respectively.

"Wait till Father hears this!" Draco grumbled sullenly then yelped again when she sent another spark near his feet. The other kids laughed then - even Pansy Parkinson - and suddenly Iris no longer felt so despondent about her trip to the past.

Maybe things were turning out for the best...


	9. A perfect visit

**Shadowsmage/frankieau: can't blame Draco for that one. He's what his father made him, after all.**

 **a1993: That would draw too much attention from Dumbledore. Then again...**

 **Teufel1987/Arashi IV of VI: thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: Did Harry's remaining relatives and family friends prior to 1991 never manage to find him despite knowing of Lily's sister? If yes, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely for fun, not profit.**

 **...**

"Sirius Orion Black!" the evil grandma hissed and Iris' godfather cringed. Good to know that he had at least some traces of self-preservation. "If you cannot behave yourself in a manner befitting your station, you'll be back in Grimmauld Place before you can blink."

"Come on, what's the big deal?" Sirius complained while twisting uncomfortably in his black, pressed, tailor-made suit, black leather loafers, and long black coat. His long black hair had been brushed so many times that they looked like a silken waterfall, his Azkaban-hollowed eyes had been hidden behind silver-framed sunglasses, and the silver buttons, watch, and House seal he was wearing completed the image. Auntie Cassiopeia had tried for "respectable businessman" but Sirius had ended up halfway between old nobility and gangster baron - which fit the Blacks to a T.

"They're just muggles, according to you." He continued as the three of them walked down a street framed by near-identical houses. "No need to impress them. Besides, the only reason we're in this place is because I told you where it is so you can't-" Forget about self-preservation; now, as in the future, Sirius had a serious death wish. Iris tuned out the argument and focused on not messing up her own dress. She had always favored dragonhide over any sort of fiber for practical reasons and her current attire being Acromantula silk did not comfort her in the slightest. Instead, it brought up memories of when the Acromantula population near Hogwarts had grown too large and too bold for the Forbidden Forest and had tried to colonize the rest of Scotland. That had been a nightmare for the Auror office and the Obliviators both.

"Ah, we're here." Cassiopeia said as they finally reached Number 4 Privet Drive. She straightened her own expensive dress one final time, made sure her wild iron-grey locks were secure in their hairnet, and checked that the Sticking Charm that held Sirius' mouth shut had not been broken, then rang the bell.

"Yes, can I... help... you..." Petunia Dursley's cheerful voice deflated almost instantly upon seeing the three of them. Cassiopeia only raised an eyebrow at that, while Iris was busy controlling the sudden impulse to Transfigure her to a newt, and Sirius gave her a knowing smirk, Sticking Charm or no Sticking Charm.

"You can." The aging Black witch said brusquely. Nobility and polite conversation had been practically bred into the older generations of Blacks, but so had an assumed superiority towards other wizards, let alone muggles. Iris licked her lips in anticipation. If Cassiopeia would not tolerate anything less than perfect civility from the House's heir apparent, she doubted the older witch would do so if it came from any muggle - let alone Petunia Dursley.

"We're here to see Harry Potter." Cassiopeia said perfectly calmly, but the aura of menace and ferocity radiating out of her made Iris' former aunt pale. The older Black might not be as powerful or impressive as Albus Dumbledore, but she was at least at Flitwick's level. The diminutive Charms Master might not appear to be very impressive at first glance, but he'd done pretty amazing things during the Battle of Hogwarts, and was a better Duelist than even Alastor Moody. "We're relatives of his on his father's side."

"Petunia, who's at the door?" Vernon was here as well? Oh, this was too good to be true. With any luck, the Dursleys would be their usual freak-hating selves and goad the 'evil grandmother' into doing something about them. Not that Cassiopeia needed them to act on their stupidity and bigotry, if the firm eye contact she kept on Petunia Dursley and her mounting fury were any indications.

"Iris, Mister Potter is upstairs, _resting_ in the second bedroom." She said firmly. "Go and keep him company, will you? The Dursleys and I have some things to discuss." With her ex-Seeker's, ex-Auror's reflexes, Iris swerved through an indignant Vernon Dursley's reach, avoided a shove from Dudley, and went up the stairs two at a time. She might miss the festivities downstairs for now, but Sirius was bound to tell her everything later and they could always enjoy reviewing the imminent curbstomping in the Black family pensieve. Keeping Harry away from potential magical violence might be awkward, but it was rewarding too. If two decades working for the future reformed Ministry had taught her anything it was that you could never have too many contacts.

 **...**

Harry's life in Number 4 Privet Drive had drastically improved the first few weeks after the strange lady's visit. He'd gotten his own room, he was being paid for the chores he was willing to do, he got full meals, and he had a magical book that told him about all the strange and wondrous things he could do while allowing him to sneak around invisible.

But as weeks turned to months, things had become ugly. Unable to directly harm him due to the contract the strange woman had had them sign, the Dursleys found other ways to make his life a living hell. His full meals started arriving with too much salt or pepper for him to eat safely. The Dursleys often left on 'business trips' and locked him up in the house 'for his own safety' as nobody could be found to supervise him, and his magical book, his most prized possession, had disappeared. Had the Dursleys somehow stumbled upon it and decided to get rid of it? Things got even worse one morning when Dudley's 'condition' was suddenly cured and his fat lump of a cousin, furious at having spent so long as a half-pig and too stupid to consider the consequences, started attacking him with far greater frequency than before. Harry's evil Aunt and Uncle soon realized their beloved Diddykins had signed no contract -magical or otherwise- so they encouraged him to punish Harry where they could not. Harry had taken to hiding in his room, lying for long hours on his bed, and practicing anything he could remember from his lost book. That's what he'd been doing this evening too, when someone knocked on his door.

"Who is it?" He said guardedly. None of the Dursleys would ever do something as polite as knocking before entering.

"Your cousin." Came a young girl's voice from the other side of the door. "Open up! I'm supposed to keep you company while Auntie Cassiopeia is increasing the Dursleys' number of orifices."

"I don't think I got any cousins." Harry said, quashing the suddenly springing hope fluttering in his heart. His life had been hell for as far back as he could remember. Even his latest dreams of escape from the Dursleys through magic had been crushed less than a month ago. He doubted his fate would allow him to know his true family. "And what's an orifice?"

"It's a big word cousin Sirius often uses when having an argument with cousin Bella. It seemed appropriate." The girl on the other side of the door giggled. "Now will you let me in? Your cousin Dudley is getting closer and he doesn't look very friendly."

"Get in, quickly." Harry said, opening the door. He wouldn't let any kid to face Dudley alone, let alone a girl - even if she was taller than him. Long black hair swinging left and right as she all but danced her way in, the girl helped him slam the door in Dudley's face then laughed.

"That was fun." She said, staring at him with gleaming emerald eyes identical to his own. The same chin, the same shade of black in her unruly but elegantly styled hair, the same knowing smirk he saw in the mirror when thinking of Dudley's dumbest moments. The girl could have been his sister - the resemblance was quite strong. Her eyes were more heavily lidded than his own, her cheeks a bit higher, her face fuller, and she wasn't as skinny as he was, but other than that they were the same. They were definitely elated unless...

"How do I know you're really my cousin?" He'd heard Uncle Vernon talking about scams many times and if there was one thing he'd learned from the Dursleys it was that there were bad people in the world - bad people that looked just like good people if the neighbors did not look closely enough.

"Hello, we're practically identical." She said. "What else could we be but kin?"

"Dunno..." Harry said, Dudley's recent predicament suddenly coming to mind. "You could be discuized or something."

"It's 'disguised', not 'discuized'." She said primly, but there was a hint of a smile in her face. "I'm glad you've learned something from the Book."

"You know about the Book?" he gasped. Her tone, the emphasis she'd put in the word, made that clear enough.

"Of course! An older member of the family gave it to you before she had to leave Britain." She frowned, biting her lip. From Aunt Petunia's spying on the neighbors, Harry knew that indicated deep thoughts about something less than honest. "Wouldn't be fair, you know? The family library has many books and you didn't even have one. Now where is it? Have you read it all yet?"

"Umm..." Harry stared at the floor in embarassment. "It disappeared..." he admitted in a small voice.

"What?" The girl growled, suddenly looking furious. "It's enchanted, the Dursleys could never have taken it from you. I doubt you lost it either so who..." her eyes widened comically in revelation. "I'm gonna bury that old meddler! The nerve - stealing your book like that!"

"What do you mean?" Harry said even more warily than before. The girl jumped from cheerful, to secretive, to angry too fast for a normal person. "How could someone steal the book from inside my room? Nobody saw anything."

"Oh Harry." She said compassionately - another emotional jump. "You really think the Dursleys would tell you if someone came here and took your things?" Well, when she put it like that... she didn't seem half as crazy as before. "Besides, a magical thief would have other options."

"Like what?" Harry asked, but then was too busy keeping his jaw from reaching the floor to hear any reply. After winking at him mischievously, the girl had started fading away until she was transparent like a well-cleaned window. Someone not paying attention could easily miss her.

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed, making him blink as she suddenly returned to a more normal state. "I'm getting rusty - that was barely halfway to full invisibility."

"I think it was awesome!" Harry said, the girl's weirdness totally forgotten. "Was that magic? Can you show me how to do it? What's your name?"

"Oh, right, names. I totally forgot." She giggled. "I am Iris Black, pleased to meet you." She shook his hand. "Can you not mention it to Auntie Cassiopeia? She's always telling me I must remember my manners."

"I'll do anything if you show me how to do that." Harry said excitedly.

The two preteens spent the rest of the evening playing with magic, Iris patiently showing Harry a few minor tricks he might manage after months of hard work. The boy was a bit disappointed not to be able to do as much as she, but Iris nipped that attitude in the bud. She told him in no uncertain terms that magic was hard - harder than his chores - and the only way for him to get better was to work on it. She left him with the promise of more visits in the future, and maybe the return of his book if his remaining distant relatives could manage it.

Once more, things were looking up in Harry's life.

 **...**

Sirius was glad aunt Cassiopeia had taken his wand and magically stuck his mouth shut. If she hadn't he'd have murdered the Dursleys where they stood. Only Vernon's size and the success of the murder attempt being in question stopped him from doing them all in with his bare hands. From the older witch's pionted questions and obvious fury, Sirius had a vague idea of how his beloved godson had spent the last five years. Even the little he knew had very nearly sent him into a blind rage. How dare they beat Harry, starve him, use him as their personal House Elf - if not for the intervention of a witch that sounded suspiciously like Iris' older form a few months ago, who knew what might have happened.

The young scion of House Black regretted persuading aunt Cassiopeia into accompanying her this day. He'd been so very happy when his memories of his godson begun to return as the Dementors' influence slowly faded. Half-remembered conversations about Lily's family and his last meeting with Hagrid that horrible Halloween had resurfaced and he'd eagerly shared everything he knew about the Boy-Who-Lived with the rest of the family despite Iris' silent protests. But now... now he wished he hadn't.

"What are we going to do about this?" He asked his aunt sharply as the three of them walked away from muggle eyes and towards a secluded point to Apparate from. "We can't leave him there with those... those animals!"

"Why Sirius, you're finally seeing muggles like the rest of us." Cassiopeia mocked him. "Where's your belief in the muggle-loving propaganda spread by Albus Dumbledore now?"

"I can't believe Dumbledore would do something like that, leave my godson..." Shouting in wordless fury, he kicked the nearest wall. Despite the dragonhide loafers, his foot hurt. The wall, not so much.

"Albus Dumbledore works for what he believes is the good of the Wizarding World." Iris said noncommitally. "But he's neither omnipotent nor infallible. He once told me himself that, while he makes far fewer mistakes than most men due to his prodigious intellect, the mistakes he does make end up being correspondingly vaster."

"Right." Sirius said darkly. "What about Harry, then? What will we do about my godson?"

"He's no longer your godson, boy. You're supposed to be dead, remember?" Cassiopeia admonished. "Bringing you here was a mistake - what if Dumbledore discovers something?"

"He's already been here." Iris provided with barely contained fury. "Stole my present for Harry's last birthday."

"I was wondering how young Harry knew all those wandless tricks." Cassiopeia said, fixing her with a penetrating stare. "Why didn't you share what you knew about the Boy-Who-Lived with the rest of the family like Sirius?"

"Because his doing so ended up so well." The girl mocked and Sirius growled. Saving him from Azkaban or not, she had no business getting between him and his godson - especially given Harry's treatment at the hands of the Dursleys.

"Enough!" the oldest member of the trio commanded. "Merlin, this is a mess. We're not going to resolve it by bickering in the streets. Let's go back to Grimmauld Place and discuss this like adults - those of us who are adults anyway." She stared at Sirius at that - unfairly in his opinion. The girl was so much younger than him.

With a loud pop, the three of them vanished into thin air.

 **...**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore came back from his late night stroll relaxed and with a mind clear of worries for the moment. Further pursuit of the secrets of the magical book he'd taken from the Dursleys' home for Harry's safety had been put on hold, his political opponents were mostly quiet, the Ministry was finally stabilizing after the war, however slow that stability might be coming, and the coming year's crop of students would be small and manageable. Attendance had been steadily dropping in Hogwarts for the past few years as it was time for the generation born during the war to learn magic, but there was nothing to be done about it. The births after the war had almost doubled in under a year, so he was not very worried about it. All in all, everything seemed to be going well so it was time for a good night's sleep.

The Headmaster's good mood came to an abrupt end as he entered his office to find it all but blown up. His heavy desk and comfortable chair were gone, the magical instruments he'd created in pieces, except for those magically protected. Cabinets upon cabinets full of books, potions, and stored memories had been damaged - but managed to survive and protect their contents. Instead of a fully grown Fawkes there was only a chick staring up at him indignantly from where it lay on the ruin-covered floor. The only things entirely untouched were those directly protected by the magic of the castle itself; the portraits of past Headmasters, Rowena's Quill and the Book of Names, the Sorting Hat.

"What happened here?" He said as soon as he'd found words again.

"Oh, nothing of importance Dumbledore." Said Phineas Nigellus snidely. "Your latest bit of light reading just packed a heavier punch than expected."


	10. A perfect investment

**RebeccaRoy: Not quite yet. The first few chapters set up Iris' position in the new timeline. After that's done, we'll advance the timeline till we catch up with canon events.**

 **ReBein: The problems Iris has to face despite having all that preparation and knowledge from the future is the whole point. As with my other story, I'm trying to keep events reasonably realistic while still allowing for lots of drama and action. As for Harry being removed from the Dursleys early, most time-travel stories assume that Dumbledore is both totally wrong to have kept him there, and entirely malicious/incompetent. I'm trying not to go that way - characters should have realistic goals, beliefs, and flaws in my opinion.**

 **a1993: Dumbledore is off-balance because all evidence points towards a powerful dark witch or wizard both knowing many of his secrets and interfering with his plans for Harry. Phineas is also a Black and, unlike many other people, Iris is aware of the information network the portraits give to Dumbledore and that Phineas has a portrait in Grimmauld Place.**

 **bluecimmers: Thanks. I'm trying here not just for a gender-switch Harry but for both female and male Harrys at once due to the paradox. It was an idea I hadn't seen developed in a story before, so I decided to try it.**

 **Ranma-sama/geetac: Thanks!**

 **...**

The silver and black car gleamed under the moonlight as it took an elegant, almost-silent turn into the small manor's private road. It circled around the main entrance and headed for the garage in the manor's left, engine purring like a herd of cats. Not many people could afford the extravagant expense of an automobile fitted and calibrated piece by piece by hand rather than some soulless machine, and that fit the older gentleman that drove it just fine. Whatever else he might have become, he'd never shaken off his family's elitist attitude and him buying a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud if anyone could manage it would simply not do. He still drove it himself twenty-seven years after that first day long ago, enjoying the feel of expensive leather beneath his fingers that hid elegant but strong steel like few other things in the world. Most of those things had been denied to him however, some by simple age, others by accident of birth.

Realizing his dwelling on such things was to the benefit of no-one, he locked up and walked into the manor proper. He navigated through memory alone, not bothering with lights. After staying up rather late sorting some finicky bits of business, he expected Julia to be asleep for the day. His wife of twenty years might be younger than him by a fair margin but did not share his increased vitality, the only advantage of his bloodline he'd managed to inherit. She had fallen ill not long ago, and he'd been attempting to convince her to try some herbal remedies, to no effect. As for their children, he'd sent them away in that expensive boarding school Julia had been considering. He was in little risk himself but did not want an underage boy and girl living in the same house as their very sick mother... so why did his back itch as if someone was watching?

"Greetings, uncle Marius." A pleasant contralto announced softly from the darkness and the older man froze in his tracks. Fifty-seven years, all the way back to the age of eleven. That was how long he had lived without receiving a greeting such as this, and he would have been happy not to have, till the day of his death. One of the two people who'd ever greeted him so had been a horrible, horrible child who, even at the age of three, displayed signs of casual cruelty that could freeze one's blood. The other had actually been two years his senior and might have been pleasant, considerate, and intelligent company - if she hadn't been trying to compell young Marius into encounters as unethical as they were intimate. No, he had not forgotten Walburga and Lucretia. How could he, when they were the reason he'd not approached any girls till well in his thirties?

"You are not welcome here." He said roughly, trying to control his sudden panic even as his heart tried to leap off his chest. "None that might greet me so are."

"Indeed?" The unseen speaker asked rhetorically. "And here I thought you were a man of honor and integrity that would not disrespect a visitor, no matter the suddeness of her arrival."

"The family cast me out as a little boy!" He angrily hissed back. "I do not care for their -your- presence if I can help it. I left all of this, all that they stood for and represented, behind me long ago and have spent many of my nights since trying to forget. So kindly remove yourself from my property, whoever of my insane former relatives you might be. All this ruckus will disturb my wife's much needed rest."

"No, it will not." The infuriating visitor stated calmly, with not a care in the world to spare for his justifiably angry dismissals. "A silencing charm has seen to that, I assure you. Speaking of your wife, it is Legionnaire's disease, is it not? Why isn't she in the hospital?"

"The same hospital whose air-conditioning system was responsible for over a hundred infected and twenty-five dead so far?" He growled. How dare she involve his Julia in whatever nefarious purpose she had in mind? "Get out!" He commanded harshly, not a trace of civility left in him. The least of his former relatives could do things to him, things horrible beyond imagining, but he would not give them the satisfaction of giving in to whatever demands they might have of him.

"As you wish." The hidden woman sighed, footsteps echoing in the foyer as she moved towards the main entrance. There was a pause right before they reached said door, and Marius felt again unseen eyes on him. "Keep your wife warm and well fed while the potion works. She should be in no further risk by the end of the week, and fully recovered within a tenday."

"What?" Marius could not believe his ears. It... it couldn't be true. No member of his former family would waste a potion on what they saw as a filthy muggle, no better than an animal. It must be a joke, an ugly, painful, horrible prank at his expense to get his hopes up, only to see them destroyed when his Julia finally succumbed.

"Your hearing is not so bad yet, uncle Marius." The unseen speaker said, opening the front door with an invisible hand. "Now excuse me, I still have to find a banker to handle my investments."

"Wait!" He said and the door stopped. "Why did you... heal her?" He wanted, needed to hear for himself the reason, to be sure his Julia would be OK.

"Because I could." The woman said, her voice wavering between very old and very young. "And because you kept the family name, mister Black. Bad experiences with muggles or not, I still value family more than many other things."

Wait a minute... neither Walburga nor Lucretia would be caught dead uttering something like that. They never had any bad experiences with muggles either, to his knowledge. It was the muggles that had bad experiences with the family, usually culminating to being held in a Full-Body-Bind while a pack of transfigured dogs ate them alive - he still had nightmares from the single muggle hunt he'd witnessed.

"Who are you?" He asked, no longer certain he'd handled this meeting correctly. At his question, the air before him blurred and a tall, aristocratic woman with long black hair stood before him. Heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, heavy-lidded emerald eyes, thin eyebrows and thin lips. She wore her long black coat well, obviously accustomed to moving in heavy clothing and boots, and no stranger to the simple black blouse and trousers she wore underneath, the entire attire straddling the line between a witch's robe and muggle biker's leathers. She looked no older than twenty-five which, given the earlier maturity but slower aging of those that wielded magic, might make her anywhere between twenty and forty. Not a face he'd seen before given the timing of his disownment, but one that definitely belonged to the family.

"My name is Iris, uncle Marius." She smiled. "Dorea's illegitimate get, as aunt Cassiopeia bluntly but accurately puts it."

"Why did you come here like this?" He asked, curiosity overcoming his habitual anger towards all members of his former family. "You said something about investments? Why appear like a thief in the night if financial advice was what you wanted? I do have an office, you know."

"I doubt your office could handle that large a cash flow. Not legally anyway." Ah, it was like that then. Well, Marius was no stranger to less than legal transactions. Once a Black always a Black, the saying went, and illicit activities were how he'd managed to build a respectable fortune out of nothing. And this Iris... she did not appear to be as bad as the rest of his family. He well knew appearances could be deceiving, but she'd healed his wife when she could have just placed him under the Imperius Curse - or did something far more horrible.

"How much are we talking about?" He finally asked.

"I am not entirely certain." She admitted with chargin. "Finances were never my strong point. How much is a cubic yard of gold going for these days?"

Marius Black fainted dead away.

 **...**

"Sit, Iris." The Black patriarch said to the little girl before him, offering her the only other chair in his cramped office. He had been uncertain of how to treat her since Cassiopeia revealed to him her... situation. Was she the six-year-old she appeared to be? The forty-plus-year-old witch that claimed to have duelled the Dark Lord more than once and survived? He was undecided, and thus had refrained from contacting her these past months.

There was evidence for and against both possibilities. Iris acted her apparent age frequently; she had a fondness of pranks, often complained out loud about how boring her lessons were, hid invisibly in the boiler room whenever the ettiquette and dance tutors arrived and they had to send Kreacher to retrieve her - the only one of them she wouldn't hex when she was in a bad mood. On the other hand, her vocabulary was that of an adult, she had insight in matters of magic and politics that few did, and her spellcasting might be unfocused and haphazard but it was also stronger than his or even Cassiopeia's at the times she really focused... as Bellatrix and Sirius had found out that night. Perhaps this... curse or backlash that had made her younger affected only her body and all these random and inexplicable shifts were the result of a powerful adult mind trying to inhabit a child's body. Cassiopeia seemed to think so anyway, and in matters of magic Arcturus would defer to her expertise. Which brought them to the need for their current meeting.

"In the past few months, I've been trying to mobilize the House's political and economic power." He said to the unnaturally attentive non-child before him. "Sadly, the House of Black had been in a state of slow collapse for years now. Early in the war I'd had to withdraw us from active politics in an attempt to keep the House neutral. My efforts were largely successful -if you discount the youngest generation's involvement- but as a result our web of influence was severely weakened. With me so far?"

"Of course." She said matter-of-factly. "The withdrawal of the House left a power vacuum that others sought to fill. Trying to return a decade later, there's no open place for us in the political and economic scene - especially with no heirs and both Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore trying to keep as much of the scene under their control as they can."

"Almost entirely correct." Arcturus said with approval at her brief but complete summary of their situation. "Reestablishing former alliances and contacts now needs two things. The first is obviously money. The Black accounts had been depleted by the... less than expert spending of Walburga Black over the past six years and our main investments' almost total inactivity. We're still a very rich House, but no longer the richest by a fair margin. Those who wish to keep us out of politics by any means can now afford to expend gold to oppose our efforts. They will lose some of their fortune if they directly stonewall us, yes, but we will lose all of ours to no gains."

"Why are you telling me this?" The non-child asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed, thin eyebrows forming a severe 'V'.

"Because in pureblood society there is another option for gaining political influence; through blood." He nodded at her seriously. This was not a matter he would normally discuss with someone her apparent age, but she was not really a child as her reactions and responses so far had proven. "Our opponents assume the Blacks have no heirs, now that Sirius and Bellatrix are presumed dead. Given Sirius' innocence in the matter, Cassiopeia and I still hope to exonerate him - and we'll eventually manage it as the House's power grows once more. It would not be the first time we've forced the Ministry to see things our way, after all, and now that the Dark Lord's surviving supporters believe him safely dead they will see no reason to oppose his exoneration... until it's too late for them to stop us."

"Good." The girl said darkly. From what Arturus had seen she had a fondness for her younger cousin, sometimes looking up to him - presumably for his courage to fight the Dark Lord openly, while at others she was exasperated at his immaturity but still helped him work through the nightmares and other issues Azkaban had left him with. Perhaps what he was about to ask of her would not be as much of an issue then.

"Unfortunately, we're still years away from Sirius returning to an active social life and not only because he's presumed dead. The family cannot afford to wait that long before making new alliances, not if we hope to grow our power and influence enough to oppose the Dark Lord when he returns." He would not call him Riddle, not even with her. That bit of information was too dangerous to let slip by chance as it would draw far too much attention from the Dark Lord's supporters before they were ready. "Luckily, there is another that could represent our House in the newest generation."

"Another? Who-?" Her eyes widened comically and she pushed her chair back several feet from his desk as realization blossomed. "Bloody Hell! You can't mean..."

"Of course I mean you, Iris." Arcturus said with a smirk. Payback time for all these horrible surprises she put the entire family through. "Given your predicament, you are in a unique position to blend in the newest generation of purebloods. You might be older than both Sirius and Bellatrix, but that only makes you more qualified given how old you appear to be. Given how advanced you are over real children both intellectually and magically, you'd have the perfect opportunity to become a leader among them, guide them to benefit our goals and oppose the Dark Lord's. I daresay you've already made a decent start of it in the gatherings Cassiopeia has taken you - good job, by the way."

"If you're thinking of marriage contracts, the answer is not just no but hell no." The girl growled. "I am almost forty-three. I refuse to be bound to a child."

"If you'd studied the family tree better you'd know that was not my intent." Arcturus said coldly. "My own son did not wed until well in his twenties because however hard the times might have been for the family, I would not press him in a marriage that was not his choice. Unfortunately, he chose poorly. Believe it or not, Orion marrying his first cousin was not what I had in mind as a good match. I hope you will not make mistakes of similar magnitude when your turn comes."

"Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind, uncle." She returned with equal iciness. "I am... uncertain how my predicament will ultimately affect me. Could you not find another way to help promote the family's goals?"

"I don't know." He said sarcastically. "Do you happen to have a veritable fortune at hand we could use to promote the growth of the House?" That wasn't the only reason he'd arranged this interview with the youngest member of the House. Cassiopeia had come to him with more than a few observations of the girl's occasional instability, her response to both her forced de-aging as well as extensive past trauma, as far as the most learned witch in the family could tell. They had to focus the girl's attention in something both important and productive, she claimed, help her overcome this imbalance by engaging her interests. The Black family had too long a history of instability and insanity to leave the problem unattended Cassiopeia said, and he had to agree with her. He'd thought to engage the girl with the things most high-society witches focused on; advancement, inheritance, marriage. Even Cassiopeia had flirted with such interests in her youth, despite ultimately choosing to focus on her magical studies alone. But it appeared his judgement had been in error; the girl had no interest in such matters. She was far too much like Cassiopeia or even Bellatrix in that - maybe being too much alike was why she so often clashed violently with her younger cousin?

"Actually," Iris said with some relief "I believe I can help in that. After nearly three decades of travel and interaction with dark wizards, a large number of artifacts has come into my possession."

"Really?" Arcturus came out of his musings to find another surprise. Where could she keep such a collection? She didn't have a vault in Gringotts; he'd checked. "Is it in that blood-locked trunk of yours that none of us have been able to open? That's not much of a collection, unless the artifacts are quite valuable."

"Oh, they are." The girl was quick to say, happy to leave all talk of marriage behind her. "But the trunk is also magically extended. The collection is very extensive - more so than the one in the Malfoys' vaults, from what I could learn."

Impressive, if true. As was the fact that she was willing to give them up now to escape a daughter's traditional duties to her House where she'd kept it from the rest of them so far. Arcturus wondered what else she'd squirreled away that could help the House and how much he could press her before he found himself in the business end of a very powerful witch's wand.


	11. A perfect flight

**Frankieau: the book blew up Dumbledore's office. Nothing stops Iris or the other Blacks from sending Harry more presents though.**

 **Shadowsmage: Sure, she's young, but these are the Blacks we're talking about. Being married at 12 after a marriage contract being signed as soon as they display definite signs of magic at seven is not beyond consideration - which is why Iris shot down that idea preemptively.**

 **Lady Nyshah: Your wish is my command.**

 **Arashi IV of VI / NatNicole: thanks!**

 **a1993: The "perfect" chapter naming started out when I titled the first two chapters 'a perfect plan' and 'a perfect mess'. Then I thought, why not continue it, give the titles a unique style? As for the gold Iris brings back, Wizarding Britain was already collapsing so her friends decided to give her as much as they could get away with for her time-travel. A cubic yard isn't that much for a national economy. It's only what, half a billion pounds in 1986 prices? Some people in real life are personally worth several times as much. Of course, that's only as much as Iris was letting Marius handle for now.**

 **Disclaimer: Did we never see a broomstick being made in the original story, despite many of Britain's most capable witches and wizards being prominent characters? If yes, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is merely for fun, not profit.**

 **...**

"Now this, is really cool." Sirius said, grey eyes gleaming as they scanned the cavernous chamber. "I can't believe you made it out of the manor's basement in only three months."

"It's my birthday gift to myself." Iris quipped. If Sirius was impressed by her spellwork, she'd like to see him try to reclaim his jaw from the floor if he ever found out about the Room of Requirement. Enchantment had never been Iris' strongest skill and the loss of focus that came with a younger body made the work several times slower than it should have been, even with wielding the Elder Wand. The results, however, spoke for themselves.

The chamber they were in had been a lightless, dank, underground room filled with broken, rotting antiques nobody had any use for anymore, several boggarts, a nest of thankfully only dog-sized acromantula, and several dozen dark artifacts designed more for torture and a dark wizard's amusement than anything else. After Cassiopeia had berated the ex-Head Auror one too many times about her shoddy, unprofessional spellwork, Iris had decided to let off some steam and do some cleaning at the same time. The boggarts had been swiftly banished, the dark artifacts she'd hacked apart with the Sword of Gryffindor for old times' sake, and the rest she'd half-vanished and half-eradicated with small bursts of Fiendfyre. After the room was more or less clean, the real work had begun.

Recreating anything close to the Room of Requirement would have taken a far more accomplished enchantress than Iris would ever be, so she set her goals lower. Instead of trying to create multiple extradimensional spaces out of a blank wall, she settled for expanding the single existing space by a factor of ten. With extension charms, a purse could become a trunk, a trunk could become a room, a tent could become a house. A thirty-foot-long, twenty-foot-wide, ten-foot-tall basement became the size of a large cathedral or small stadium... after a great deal of back-breaking, headache-inducing labor. A single expansion charm could only cover a few cubic feet at most and took Iris a quarter-hour to set for a lasting duration. Two months and three thousand castings later, only the basic size had been altered. Once Iris started working with Transfiguration however, the work sped up dramatically; she was so much better at it than noncombat Charms. One more month of work, and the room's walls, ceiling, and floor could be changed and colored into whatever the user wished, and the room could transfigure many mundane items the user asked for out of grains of dust - not quite Conjuration, but the best Iris could do before her skills improved once again. It couldn't make magical items, potion or alchemical reagents, or written works -even the Room of Requirement transported those out of the Room of Hidden Things rather than make them- but it could provide a wide assortment of liquids and foodstuffs. Iris had managed that by incorporating a couple hundred small bottles that once contained various wines, juices, milks and the like, but were now empty... and then enchanting them with Refilling Charms. Every time someone asked for one of those liquids, the Room took it from the refilling bottles built into its design. Similarly for the food, Iris had put a plate each of her favorite meals and desserts under Preservation and Duplication Charms. When someone asked for them, the Room made some new duplicates. Since neither the Refilling nor the Duplication Charm had existed at the time of the Founders, that was the only way her room had been improved over Helga's.

"You do know what we can use this for, don't you?" Sirius asked excitedly. "We can play Quidditch!"

"With only the two of us?" the younger-seeming girl asked, dark eyebrows arching. "Unless you plan to invite Bellatrix - in which case you're not nearly as recovered from the Dementors' tender mercies as you appear to be."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun!" The theoretically adult wizard whined. "She's useless with a broom. We'd fly circles around her and keep throwing Bludgers at her till she squeals for mercy." He frowned, mood darkening dangerously. "And then we'll keep doing it until she squeals no more, of course."

"You don't have Bludgers, moron." Their cousin said caustically as she walked through the entrance. "You don't even have brooms, do you?" Bellatrix said, almond-shaped eyes scanning the two of them up and down. "Unless you're hiding them in your pocket. Or maybe your hair - they're longer and more tangled than mine."

Before her oh-so-mature cousins could come to blows again, Iris lifted her hands and concentrated. It took longer and a great deal more effort than it once had but in the end her trusty Firebolt manifested in her grasp. It had taken over a week of searching to recover it from where it had fallen during the Battle of the Seven Potters after Voldemort's defeat, and the Elder Wand to fix it. It was then that she'd decided to spell it so that it couldn't be lost again. Vanishing was how the Sword of Gryffindor could return to the Sorting Hat when called, no matter where it might be, and that was how her old broomstick would return to her when she asked. Sticking her tongue out at Bellatrix and receiving Sirius' amused laughter for her efforts was just icing on the cake.

"Great, the midget can conjure brooms wandlessly but can't bother showing proper etiquette befitting members of this family." The Black witch snarked. "Are you sure the Dark Lord's curse is not regressing your mental age now that it's done with your body?"

"Don't mind her, kiddo." Sirius patted her back while his eyes were transfixed on the professional broom in her hands. "She's just a hag choking on her own bile after a failed marriage and a rejected crush."

Naturally, his response set Bellatrix off. Spewing profanities and curses in equal measure, the less-than-sane dark witch attacked them with abandon, no thought spared for her own defense. Narrowly ducking under a freaking Killing Curse, Iris conjured an iron sphere and put it under an offensive animation jinx with a well-practiced flick of her wand. The impromptu Bludger slammed into Bellatrix's midriff hard enough to make her double over, flew around her to slam at her feet from behind, then rose twenty feet up only to fall straight at the incapacitated witch's head. A split second before it could splatter Bellatrix's brains all over the floor it froze in mid-air under Iris' silent command.

"Don't you ever cast that curse at me again!" Iris growled, trying to be as intimidating as possible in her seven-year-old frame.

"Or else what? You'll kill me?" Bellatrix taunted. "Do you even have the stomach for it? And even if you do, do you think it matters? I endured Azkaban willingly for my former Lord's favor. What greater punishment could you conceive of?"

 _"Imperio!"_

Iris had the greatest determination of any witch or wizard she'd ever met. She'd beat Voldemort in a clash of wills as a fourteen-year-old. She was wielding the Elder Wand. She had seen the future she'd fought for destroyed, and was really, truly angry with Bellatrix for endangering her last chance to save it. When the Unforgivable that imposed the will of the caster over that of the victim hit Bellatrix, the older witch struggled but could not throw it off - not entirely.

"Listen to me carefully." Iris said to her struggling cousin while Sirius watched. "I am not Tom Riddle. I am not Albus Dumbledore. And I am not an Auror." Not any more at any rate. "If your reckless use of magic, however justified, threatens lives in this family again I will enthrall you and I will send you to a muggle brothel." The seemingly older woman gulped and nodded so Iris dismissed the Imperius and stalked out of the room, thoroughly disgusted with herself. Not for making that threat, but for being, if only for a moment, willing to carry it out.

It took several minutes for Bellatrix to rise to her feet after the creepy sorceress in a child's body had left. Sirius was sitting on a table he'd asked the Room for only a few feet away from her, and he was busy enchanting several more iron spheres.

"Told you we'd have Bludgers." He said offhandedly as his cousin picked up her wand with shaking hands. If the girl's actions had disturbed him, he showed it not at all.

 **...**

"I can't believe how fast this thing is moving!" Sirius laughed as he swerved around another Bludger on the Firebolt.

"I can't believe uncle Arcturus confiscated it for a month to show it to some broom-makers!" Iris shouted back as she directed the bludgers against Sirius. Her ex-godfather was an excellent flyer, managing to dodge her attacks two times out of three. They weren't using iron Bludgers of course; rubber spheres wer painful enough.

"Yeah, he was so smug to have bought Universal Brooms for a pittance." Sirius did an excellent barrel-roll, went through a tight right turn narrower than the Bludgers could follow, then put on a burst of acceleration to outdidtance them. A few seconds later he'd returned to circling overhear while the bludgers were still all the way to the other side of the expanded chamber.

"Didn't that company go out of business back in '78?" Iris distinctly remembered Ron talking about how Nimbus threw them off the market in one of their more animated Quidditch discussions in the past future.

"That's how our illustrious Head of House could buy what was left of them. He settled their remaining debts, cleared a couple of issues with the Ministry and now the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is the proud owner of a broom manufactory." He laughed again. "The one enchanter I saw looking your broom over was practically salivating at the opportunity to copy it!"

"Of course he did." Iris said and distracted Sirius with most of the Bludgers while keeping one in reserve. Truth be told, she'd never even considered introducing a broomstick from the future in the 80's market. Her old Nimbus 2000 was still four years away, if it had even been designed yet, and the company that had made her Firebolt did not even exist yet. Upon hearing Sirius' boasting of his first flight on the Firebolt, old Arcturus' business sense had practically demanded they seize that opportunity to make a fortune for the House of Black. The rest of the family believed Iris had made that broomstick herself and every Quidditch fan among them had congratulated her, which made the time-traveler rather awkward. Claiming credit for work not her own reminded her of all those times she'd copied from Hermione in their Hogwarts years, which was a bittersweet memory at best. With the timeline as messed up as it now was, she'd probably never get to see her friends again. Oh she'd probably meet them in a few years, but they'd be children while her own personality would be that of a grown woman. Would they even become friends, given those circumstances?

"Come on, Iris!" Sirius taunted from the air. "I'm totally outrunning these things. Make me work for it at least!"

Iris sighed. When would her ex-godfather learn? With a bit of concentration she sent the Bludger she'd kept in reserve at him, the one she'd Disillusioned. Three seconds later, a wincing Sirius was trying to pick himself off the pillows covering the floor.

"That trick was totally underhanded, kiddo." He said as he limped closer. "I approve! Now why don't you try this awesome queen among brooms while I am trying to knock you down? I bet you won't last half as long as I did!"

The game was on. Despite her younger body, Iris had few problems remembering all her future experience and a Supersensory Charm ensured Sirius could not catch her unawares as she had him. Unfortunately, remembered experience did not in any way translate to physical stamina. However amazed she might leave her ex-godfather with her professional-level maneuvers, the truth was that Quidditch was immensely demanding physically - especially on a Firebolt. Muggle racecar drivers were used to similar speeds but even limited to two dimensions and the fairly tame turns of muggle roads, they often had to deal with three to five times their own weight in the tighter turns. The g-forces professional Quidditch crushed its players with were far worse. Iris gamely kept on for ten minutes before surrendering - if only to avoid falling off her broom from exhaustion.

"That was pretty good, kid." Sirius consoled her as she fell down next to him, every single muscle in her body feeling as heavy and beat as a piece of iron at the hands of a talentless blacksmith. "In fact, it was quite awesome for one so young. Did you ever play professionally?" He asked. "Before your... accident I mean."

"No." Iris shook her head. "Far too busy hunting dark wizards to find time for it."

"Sucks to be you, I guess." Her new cousin joked. "But see it this way. With a broom as awesome as yours and your whole life ahead of you again, you might have an opportunity to play this time around. And with all your past experience plus knowing to train for it early... well... you might be bringing in the Cup for England a decade or so down the line." He patted her back, almost knocking her over. While trying to stand upright and ignore her strenuously protesting muscles, Iris realized he was right. If everything went as well as they hoped for and they managed to get rid of Voldemort with minimal damage to Wizarding Britain, she could make that dream come true. Victor Krum had played well in his thirties and won the world cup for his country in the now-aborted future. Couldn't she do the same?

"Now stop mopping, kiddo." Sirius' admonishing words pulled her out of her reverie. "Of course you lost - I'm older and studlier than you so the best broomstick in the world is mine for the rest of the day."

Iris giggled and didn't bother to correct Sirius' assumption. If the other Blacks had gushed over her old Firebolt, she couldn't begin to imagine what they'd do if they saw her custom Starstreak. The model had come out in 2020 and was still the fastest broom in the world at the time of her little jaunt into the past. Of course, the basic model had not been painstakingly enchanted by one of the few witches or wizards to approach old Dumbledore in power and she was quite certain the company broom-makers had not been using the Elder Wand either.


	12. A perfect upbringing

**Arashi IV of VI/Shadowsmage/ReBein: thanks!**

 **a1993: It's gold rather than money so prices fluctuate differently. 19 tons of gold, 24.000 pounds sterling/kilo in modern times.**

 **Nemesis13: Iris is fluctuating between a 40+ Head Auror that has fought dark wizards for three decades, and the young girl she is biologically. As for the Black family, many of them survived until the late eighties or early nineties. There's eight of them alive and kicking in this time period if you count Marius Black who is a squib, Callidora Longbottom nee Black, and Cedrella Weasley nee Black. And then there are their husbands and wives.**

 **Guest: Iris has a couple major problems in her hands. The Trace makes using magic openly a good way to have her picked up by the Ministry, her younger body makes most people unlikely to listen to her or even deal with her at all, and she has no idea what changes paradox brought about; finding a young Harry Potter instead of Iris Potter came as a rather big shock. What if other key elements of her future knowledge are similarly wrong? Also, the impact of biology onto her throught processes is considerable, Occlumency or not.**

 **kuriboh1233: Val hasn't found about the Room of Requirement yet and while she knows about expansion charms, she can't cast them reliably yet. Casting a spell that alters space on part of a building and getting it wrong would be bad. Making the building explode kind of bad. Of course, she will be making it in the future.**

 **Sakura Lisel: Iris thought she would be finding her younger self - that is what she expected. Due to paradox however, she got some things she did not expect.**

 **Disclaimer: Was the wizarding world considered 'backwards' by many Muggleborn students despite several social advantages it had over the muggle world? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is a nonprofit experiment for fun and screams. Lots of screams, mostly as punishment for some characters' monumental stupidity.**

 **...**

Iris rolled under the sickly red bolt of a Cruciatus, jumped over the pit opened by an overpowered Reducto, and returned fire by conjuring and hurling barbed metal spikes at her attacker. Unfortunately, they were deflected by a hastily but expertly erected shield, followed by a veritable storm of Cruciatus and Imperius curses that was sent her way with pinpoint accuracy. Cursing the loss of focus and speed her younger body and brain imposed as well as aunt Cassiopeia's no-magical-travel rule, she frantically danced through the barrage and tried to conjure or transfigure some constructs to distract her attacker. As before however, they were gone as quickly as she could make them, her opponent understanding the biggest weakness of battle transfiguration well enough. It always took less effort to vanish something complex than conjure or transfigure it, and sufficiently powerful curses could break through temporary transfigurations as easily as they could through shield charms. Most of all however, the ex Head Auror cursed her choice of opponents.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we?" Bellatrix taunted as she alternated between cursing and vanishing at the blink of an eye.

Iris hopped over another crater, rolled under another Imperius, and made for Sirius' fallen form. The physically older Black witch had proven that even the split-second of effort it took Iris to throw off the powerful compulsion could be crucial in a fight.

"You could get up and help!" She said to her ex-godfather as she flicked her wand and conjured a large amount of water. Water was one of the few substances that could be permanently conjured and be considered natural in all respects. Most people disregarded that little fact but Iris followed with a quick Freezing Charm even as she shaped the water into a dome. The resulting three-foot-thick wall of ice shook as it took the barrage of Unforgivables head on but remained standing. It was Iris' second-favorite way of blocking the Killing Curse for a reason.

"No, thank you." Sirius said as he took cover next to her. "I've had enough of being on the receiving end of powerful Black witches' spells for the day. As long as I keep my head down, cousin Bella is less likely to take it off - she's far more interested in teaching you a lesson, for once."

"Coward!" Iris shot back as she cast an Unbreakable charm on the wall of ice just in time. The deafening explosion of a strong Blasting Curse slid both them and the wall thirty feet back but the barrier remained standing. Of course, it only took another second for the other witch to simply vanish it and the exchange of attacks and counterstrikes to resume.

When aunt Cassiopeia had pointed out how the Unplottable enchantment on Number 12 Grimmauld Place made all locator spells useless, Iris had been eager to work on her dueling skills before they became rusty from disuse. The elder Black witch had claimed she was too old to keep up with youngsters such as Iris however, so why didn't the three cousins train against each other? In retrospect, the trap had been obvious. During the second British Wizarding War, Bellatrix Lestrange had been a more capable duelist than anyone save Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Mrs Weasley. That had been after a decade and a half of wasting away in Azkaban and with a wand not her own. The current Bellatrix was a decade younger, had spent less than a third as long under the influence of Dementors, had been carefully nursed back to health by her own family, and wasn't nearly as insane. As soon as she'd recovered physically and mentally, Iris' string of easy victories was a thing of the past.

The former Woman-Who-Conquered still had a greater talent in both Dueling and Transfiguration, a stronger will -and thus magic-, and more combat experience, but that was where her advantages ended. First of all, she couldn't use the Elder Wand. Against the not so unlikely event of Bellatrix winning one of their many duels, Iris had to use her old Holly-and-Phoenix wand to ensure the Deathstick's allegiance did not suddenly pass on to a possible Voldemort supporter; with how shaky the artifact's loyalty was, she didn't know if these being practice duels alone would be enough to prevent it. Secondly, her body was that of a child's still. Where once she could have bet on her own war-honed speed, reflexes, and endurance winning over that of any other's, those advantages were now held by the physically mature Black witch. Last but not least, focus was an issue - especially in a duel. Pulling off the bigger spells quickly and accurately no longer came naturally, and her opponent knew it. After their many fights, Bellatrix had settled into tactics of constant pressure and attrition. Either Iris would win in the first minute or so, or mounting exhaustion would slow her down further and make defeat a foregone conclusion.

It was happening again in this last duel. Bellatrix was now solely using the Reductor Curse that was both easier than most powerful offensive spells to cast repeatedly and could destroy the physical blocks Iris favored with one hit. Being forced on the defensive, the younger duelist knew defeat was unavoidable - but someone thought otherwise. Suddenly, the floor beneath the two combatants' feet was covered by a thin, hard, slippery sheet of ice and before either witch could react, a Reductor Curse exploded a conjured barrier and the backlash knocked them both off their feet.

"Accio Wands!"

Both hers and Bellatrix's foci leaped from their hands and into the grasp of the scoundrel that had attacked them unexpectedly. The two fixed him with identical murderous scowls but he didn't seem to mind... if his idiotic grin was any indication.

"I win!" Sirius proclaimed, and laughed at them.

 **...**

"Come on Harry, it's just a rat." The black-haired, green-eyed girl in the expensive dark green dress said, while the equally black-haired, green-eyed boy in the loosely fitting, worn jeans and t-shirt folded his hand and stared at her mulishly. "You should be able to compel animals by now."

"We're not even ten." The boy said obstinately. Anyone that saw the two of them together would take them for siblings, even twins, but Iris was only a cousin. His annoying, privileged, snooty, too-smart, rich cousin. "Those books you sent me said we wouldn't be going to that school for witches and wizards for a couple of years yet." Harry enjoyed the attention his cousin and distant aunt gave him, really loved their monthly visits and appreciated the many gifts. He was eager for every bit of information they could tell him about his parents and their world. But this magic stuff... he'd never expected it to need so much studying. Harry didn't like studying. He had once, but the Dursleys had been quick to punish him every time he did better than Dudley in academics. His other cousin being as thick as he was, the Dursleys had punished Harry a lot, until any desire to do better at school had been beaten out of him.

"Sure." Iris rolled her eyes, noticing aunt Cassiopeia's scowl from the corner of her eyes but not responding to it. Pressing Harry into becoming better had proven exactly as difficult as she'd expected. She remembered Hermione failing to push her and Ron into studying more in the early years of their friendship, and Harry was her after all - except for being born male. "If you want to be like every other average witch and wizard that don't even try a spell before coming to Hogwarts."

"Iris..." Harry gave her a long-suffering sigh. "Look, I've told you many times; I don't want to be exceptional. All those books about the Boy-Who-Lived... you'd probably enjoy that much attention but I wouldn't. Not when it's about my parent's deaths." The girl winced sympathetically and Harry sighed again. He realized his cousin was trying to help him but even after several years he'd only managed to do three things with magic. Move objects around with his mind, shoot sparks that could at most sting like a bee or put flammable things on fire, and change the colors of objects. At least, he'd only managed to do those things consistently; there were dozens of other effects he'd managed by accident, or when he was really frightened or really angry. And having small animals do as he wished? That wasn't something he'd ever done, either accidentally or on purpose.

"Oh Harry..." The girl shook her head, long black hair cascading over her shoulders. "Your parents would be very proud of you if they could see you now. You have accomplished a lot, considering your... upbringing." She shot a murderous glare towards the Dursleys' house then gestured towards a small group of trees. A small bird took flight from among them, glided towards the Dursleys' back yard the two children were playing in, and landed gracefully on Iris' palm. "But wouldn't you want to really impress them? Become everything you could... not because all those strangers expect it of you, but because your mother and father would have loved seeing you succeed?" She said it with such intensity that Harry couldn't help but try.

A bit more than an hour later Harry had finally managed to get the rat to obey him, though the bird was still beyond him. Iris had smiled at him approvingly and even the older witch - his distant aunt, he reminded himself - had nodded at him once. Then, she'd said the hour had grown late and they had to leave. Drawing a thin wooden rod -her magic wand!- she'd dismantled something Harry couldn't see that was called an "Unplottable Enchantment" and she and Iris had bid him farewell.

Sitting alone in the back yard of Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry thought how lucky he was to finally have people that cared about him.

 **...**

Pandora fidgeted with both excitement and worry as she sat in the large, ornate waiting room. She wasn't the only one. Dozens of witches and wizards, the majority of them muggleborns and halfbloods, had applied for the newly opened positions or had even been outright invited to an interview. Pandora knew most of them; they not only walked in the same circles but had often met in places such as these before; looking for a new job was something most witches and wizards of their station had to do periodically.

The blonde witch was excited for the same reason she was worried; rarely did any noble House offer jobs to people like them. It was a rare opportunity, but also a potential risk. Why was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black so interested in them now? Pandora had heard so many horror stories about that family, and not only from her husband. It was enough to make anyone uncomfortable to be actually invited by them for the first time... something the other hopefuls certainly agreed with. Almost half of them had been interviewed already, but not all had returned from their meeting with the Blacks' representative. Given the disappointed expressions of those that had, Pandora hoped it was because the others had been accepted and not due to something... nefarious. Unfortunately, logic and hope could not prevent her from nervously biting her nails while her own turn approached.

When she finally entered the interview chamber, she was rather surprised to find it empty of anything other than a simple desk full of various trinkets, and a single chair occupied by a tall, thin, distinguished-looking old wizard in very expensive clothing. Rather than introducing himself or asking her to introduce herself, sticking to etiquette as most purebloods would do, the old wizard read from a list and started asking her questions immediately.

"You are Pandora Lovegood?"

"Yes."

"Hufflepuff class of '81?"

"Yes."

"Self-employed as a spell-maker and Arithmancer for the past five years?"

"Yes."

Silence followed for a good five minutes as the old wizard evaluated her. Pandora wondered what he could possibly see about her through visual observation alone and whether this was some elaborate hoax when logic caught up with her annoyance at being treated thus; most revealing and detection spells had no visible signature and were all but undetectable if silently cast.

"Please examine these items and tell me what you discover." The Blacks' representative asked a bit less abruptly than before. Pandora looked at the top of his desk and the odd assortment of items upon it. A simple handheld mirror, a small number of colored beans, a necklace made of dozens of interwoven copper chains so fine you could barely tell one link from the next, a simple black wizard's robe without any decorations, a bundle of wooden cylinders tied together, each as long as her forearm but no thicker than her little finger, and a simple headband or choker of some iridescent fabric that seemed to be blending in its surroundings. Pandora sighed. They all looked like simple magical toys or prank items from that new joke shop - Zonko's, if she remembered correctly. She was a spell-maker for Merlin's sake, not some idiot with barely a NEWT to her name that would be lucky to get a job in such a silly line of business. Still, no reason to anger as powerful a family as the Blacks were; grudgingly, she begun casting her detection spells. The more she cast though, the more her anger faded and her excitement mounted. As soon as she was certain she'd gotten everything she could with a cursory examination, she started talking at once.

"The mirror has been charmed to transmit, receive, store and playback both sound and images, and can connect to others like it on request; it's a more advanced version of a communications mirror. The beans appear to be Bertie Botts Every-Flavor Beans at first glance but in reality they hold powerful potion effects in solid form; one can turn you into a specific animal similar to the animagus transformation, another has healing effects, a third carries several counterspells, and the fourth is similar to Veritaserum. The necklace is not one item, but dozens working in tandem. Each chain is enchanted with a simple Shield Charm that activates automatically against threats. While individually weak, multiple shields can activate at once, blocking anything but the most powerful attacks until the necklace runs out of charges. The robe is a basic invisibility amplifier; it can turn invisible not only itself but its wearer along with anything they're carrying. Its magic would only last for a few hours in total, but it's less confining and less conspicuous than an invisibility cloak. Those cylinders look like basic wizarding fireworks - and they do produce magical fire. However, they also animate the flames they produce in various shapes that can be commanded to carry out simple instructions. Their effects cannot be easily ended either; they have some sort of charm on them that seems to absorb the power of common counters and channel it to other ends - from blasting whoever attempts to end the effect to multiplying the effect by a factor of ten. And the last item... it carries some sort of false memory charm. It allows the wearer to experience an event up to an hour long programmed by the creator!" Pandora finished with a near-shout, her excitement obvious. Every magic item on the desk used magic in some way she had not encountered before, and a couple of them were truly brilliant.

"Interesting." Was all the Blacks' representative said. "If I asked you to replicate these items, would you be able to Mrs. Lovegood?"

"Not all of them." Pandora said, her excitement ebbing a bit. "The false memory charm would take some research first, and I wouldn't know where to begin with the potionlike beans - but everything else I could manage."

"I see..." the old wizard said, not revealing whether her answer had been found satisfactory. He opened a drawer Pandora had not noticed before and took out a foot-wide wooden tile with the number '1' carved into it. "Let us test your Transfiguration skills. Conjure as many wooden tiles of the same size, shape, weight and color as this one as you can with a single spell, each of them clearly numbered in the order they're spread on the floor." The self-employed spell-maker took the example tile from the Blacks' representative and gauged its weight, size, and texture by hand. Transfiguration wasn't her best subject but she had gotten a NEWT in it and had kept practicing since. With a decisive flick of her wand backed up by considerable determination, she did as asked.

"Hmm, you managed thirty-seven tiles." The older wizard said with a frown, giving rise to Pandora's indignation again. What was he expecting? About a third of the adult wizards in Britain never advanced to NEWT-level Transfiguration and thus couldn't conjure anything whatsoever, and those that could conjure more than a couple complex objects at once were less than one in five. Three dozen conjurations were nearly mastery-level!

"Let's move to Defense." The old man was saying now. "Cast the strongest shield you are capable of with a single spell."

 _"Protego Maxima!"_ Pandora chanted, forming a shimmering dome of powerful protective magic around herself.

"Not bad." For the first time, the aging wizard gave her a smile. "Now cast what you'd use to defend yourself against dark creatures, especially those invulnerable to physical harm."

It took her only a moment to understand this new request. Fixing Xenofilius and Luna's smiling faces in her mind and focusing on the love and happiness she felt every time their small family gathered together, she pointed her wand and said _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A bright silver manifestation of a highly unusual creature with a long horn, undulating, ridge-backed body, stumpy legs, and large, expressive eyes galloped around the room, as imaginary as her love for her family despite their flaws, and just as real.

"Excellent!" The old man's smile became genuine. "To complete this test, perform the strongest elemental spell you know of, and the most powerful jinx, curse, or hex you're willing to cast."

 _"Ignis Ad Nauseam!"_ she cast, filling a corner of the room with red and yellow flames of great intensity. Despite the tremendous heat they radiated, the wooden decorations on the walls did not burn, and even the paint remained unaffected - for these flames could burn for years without fuel and only consume what they were meant to. The jinx, hex, or curse was harder; Pandora had never been interested in magic meant solely to hurt others. In the end, she settled for something that would satisfy the request without being directly harmful. _"Prohibeo Apparatum!"_

"Gubraithian Fire and the Anti-Disapparation Jinx." The older wizard nodded appreciatively. "Color me impressed. Out of curiosity, how long will the fire burn if left as is?"

"For as long as I live or seven years, whichever is longer." Pandora said smugly. She had achieved the second most powerful form of the spell, the first being it lasting forevermore. Then again, Charms had always been her strongest subject.

"Excellent." Her interrogator said with approval. "Mrs. Lovegood, you're hired. Please move on to the adjoining chamber until the honorable Arcturus Black can meet you."

 **...**

"Good evening, cousin." Cassiopeia greeted Arcturus as she entered the cluttered, overstuffed study. The older wizard was trying to do so many things at once now that she'd begun fearing for his health. He was very nearly a century old after all, and while this was hardly a great age for a wizard, the Blacks always seemed to die too young - sometimes even muggle young. "How did the recruitment go?" She asked, trying to take her mind off such things.

"Horribly." Arcturus admitted and took another sip of headache-relieving potion. "Well over half of them had hardly any skills worth mentioning, and had such a sense of entitlement and self-righteousness you'd be hard-pressed to find in most Purebloods. Apparently, the lower classes in the Muggle world have been thoroughly infected by such delusions as equality and human rights over the past sixty or seventy years, which has turned a great deal of muggleborns into even bigger idiots than our most pampered children. One of them started throwing his idiotic beliefs in my face right after he failed both the Charms and the Transfiguration tests."

"Things have turned that bad on the other side of the divide? Really?" Cassiopeia was surprised. She'd always taken the horror stories of overpopulation, substance abuse, toxic waste, and other self-inflicted idiocies the Parkinsons, the Notts, and the Malfoys spread around about muggles with a grain of salt, and had largely ignored any social problems since they weren't her business. If such problems had such an impact upon the attitude of muggleborns however, maybe she needed to take a break from her endless study of magic and look into them. Young Lucius' claims that two out of five muggles died of cardiovascular diseases, the majority of them due to horrible health care and even worse diets couldn't be right, could it? "What did you do to that one idiot anyway?"

"Silenced the room, then hit him with the Cruciatus." Arcturus said with some satisfaction. "After he stopped screaming, I asked him how come he was about as helpless before me as a child if he was, as he claimed, my equal. Between insults and threats he gave me some drivel about rights and values and every life having worth. So I hit him with the Cruciatus again. Once his throat became too raw to scream any more, I educated him in how tradition, morality, and belief actually work; namely, that the group with the most and best wands -or in the muggles' case guns- forced everyone else to do as they were told." The aging wizard smirked. "We didn't have time to delve in it more deeply though - my next appointment was up."

"I'm glad you could let off some steam, cousin. You've been under a lot of pressure lately." Cassiopeia frowned. "Do we have to worry about the Ministry coming after you?"

"It was surprisingly therapeutic." Arcturus agreed. "And not to worry, I obliviated him of the incriminating details. I did leave him with enhanced recall of the punishment itself though. That will make him think twice before propagating his idiocy in the future."

"So, no new soldiers for the war effort." The elder Black witch shook her head in disappointment. "Back to square one on that front, then."

"I did not say that." Arcturus countered, smugness making an appearance in his features. "I did hire twenty of them, after all."

"Twenty out of a hundred." His cousin worked the numbers over in her mind. "Are you sure we're not setting the bar too high?"

"I refuse to employ idiots or incompetents, Cassie." The Black patriarch growled, using her old nickname for the first time in over a decade. "Moreover, I refuse to get people killed for nothing. If we're to fight a war in the near-future, we'll do it with talented, well-trained people. This plan about hiring them as workers will improve their skill in magic, make us some profit selling enchanted objects, and net us a good stockpile of things that'll give us an advantage in the fight but all the preparation in the world will not make an army out of civilian airheads and activists - I'll leave that kind of folly to Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix."

"Whatever you think best, cousin." She said, not entirely agreeing with him. Every war had need of curse fodder, one in the shadows against the return of a nigh-immortal murderer even more so. "How well did those twenty do in the tests?"

"Cattermole had a surprising talent for enchanting and potions despite being barely out of Hogwarts and shyer than an ostritch. She identified all the items and proposed several ways to reproduce them. There's no way she'll make a soldier - her life's ambition is to marry a bloke in Magical Maintenance and start a family - but she could still do support. Stebbins managed a hundred and fifty conjured tiles to balance his being rubbish at Charms, and had a decent grasp of Defense. Pandora Lovegood-"

"Oh Merlin, don't tell me she's like her husband?" Cassiopeia cackled. "Do we really want crackpots in our ranks?"

"If we didn't, I'd have to disown Sirius and Bellatrix." Arcturus said dryly. "But no, she was surprisingly down-to-earth. A bit shy of using offensive magic unless I miss my guess, but quite powerful. She's as talented in Charms as you are, if still inexperienced."

"So these are the best?" At her cousin's nod, Cassiopeia cackled again. "I put the kids through the tests, too. Iris cried at her Transfiguration results."

"That bad?" Arcturus asked in surprise. The de-aged witch was gifted in that branch of magic, so what was the problem? Maybe her younger body was playing havoc with her emotions... yes, that was probably it. Unfortunately, only time could solve that particular problem.

"Indeed." His cousin said, trying to hold in the maniacal laughter she was famous for. "She only managed two hundred and thirty-five conjured tiles. A positively abysmal performance, I tell you." Peals of mirth escaped the aging witch's control and she could say nothing else for over a minute. The cackles finally subsiding, she wiped a few tears of laughter from her eyes and went on. "Cried in my shoulder for several minutes, saying she'd never catch up to Dumbledore and his six-hundred-plus simultaneous conjurations now. Do you think I should have mentioned she is only nine now?"

Orion gave a long-suffering sigh and wondered how it would be to lead a non-insane family.

 **...**

Hermione Granger had always loved a good book - that was why her friends and relatives sent them by the dozen every year in her birthday. That was also why they had to plan carefully and search long to get her good books she had not read yet. The unsigned package that had appeared on her bed the evening of her tenth birthday was the first non-book present that had held her attention more than her beloved tomes, manuals, and encyclopaedias... mostly because she had no idea how it worked.

It appeared to be some sort of boarding game for little children, a set of dozens of stone tiles each small enough to fit in the palm of her hand and with a single strange character carved into its surface. They looked like numbers or letters, but of no language she recognized. Luckily, the instruction manual was written in plain Queen's English, however cryptic it might be. The first few pages were simple instructions of how to arrange the tiles, string them together to produce special effects. A given combination made the tiles stick to the surface they'd been placed upon unless removed in a specific order, others made them shift in various colors or glow in the dark, others still made the object the tiles were laid upon weightless or three times heavier than it should be. There was even one that made the tiles float in midair for no reason and through no mechanism Hermione could see.

The strange puzzle was driving her mad. She'd easily discounted mechanical or chemical means; the tiles were solid and inert, and had no seams or openings. Electromagnetic means she'd had to test and while they did have effects in any electrical appliances that got too close while they were working, there was neither a magnetic field nor any sort of radiation one could easily test for; exposure to various photography and even x-ray films had produced no results. Were the puzzles' effects due to something far more exotic, such as relativistic or quantum effects? But no, enormous amounts of power would be needed to produce unsupported, non-hydrodynamic flight, let alone generate gravitic effects or color-shift the visible spectrum. For some of the things she was seeing, Hermione had not even heard of a scientific explanation yet.

She was now reading the second, far more complicated portion of the manual. The language was quite advanced and the ideas in it ranged from complex cultural anthropology to downright laughable superstition. Hermione didn't care though. She'd never failed in any goal she'd set for herself and she was not about to do so now.

She'd discover the secrets of this strange and impossible gift if it killed her.

 **...**

"Come on, girl, slow down!" Sirius shouted over the roaring wind as he tried to catch up with Iris. Over the past few days his younger older cousin had been frightening in her single-minded determination to kill herself by accident or exhaustion, especially since they'd gotten the first two newly-made Firebolts from the broom makers. Every day she'd wake up at dawn, perform maneuvers at insane speeds until she could no longer sit straight on the broom, take a break for a few hours to practice her spellcasting, duel Bellatrix until the physically older witch lost interest in beating her for the day, then return to Quidditch practice once more.

"Can't!" came the one-word, very firm reply.

"Why the hell not?" Sirius asked, trying to kick his speed up a notch, catch up to the girl and force her to land. No luck though she was both lighter than him and more talented in the high-speed maneuvering of a Seeker.

"That bastard of a dark wizard is going to be back sooner or later, Sirius." Even over the screaming wind she could hear her anger. "And I plan to be ready for him."

"Look, I know you're angry." The dog animagus said placatingly. "But you can't beat yourself up like this. Look what it did to me!"

"I know what I am doing, thank you very much!" The girl angrily shouted back. "I need nobody's advice but my own."

It was only as their training session neared its end that Sirius noticed the mutable room's floor had responded to its occupants' thoughts by shifting into a rather frightening graveyard...


	13. A perfect conspiracy

**ReBein: Thanks! Curiously, this is still only a quarter as long as my other story but is rapidly catching up in favorites and follows. I wonder if it is due to the other story being my first one, or it focusing on an original character.**

 **AmazinglyAwesome: Bellatrix is still marked; it's not that easy of getting rid of Voldemort's claim on her. As for whether she still follows the Dark Lord... who knows.**

 **Nemesis13: I try. Making the Blacks likable while still having them be somewhat crazy and rather evil is the hardest part.**

 **Ikuni Hattori: Taking Harry from the Dursleys would not have worked. For one thing, Dumbledore and the other non-dark families would have taken up arms against them if they tried. For another, every surviving Death Eater would know where the Boy-Who-Lived was housed and prepare the poisons and hired assassins. Faking Harry's death might have worked... if not for him being in the Hogwarts book of names. So they work with what they have.**

 **Viva01: Temporal backlash is canon. At least Iris didn't prevent many people from being born... in the first few days of her trip, that is.**

 **Arashi IV of VI: thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: Did all deaths of members of the recent Black family happen to coincide with important Voldemort-related events and no character in the books mentioned anything? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter and this story is just for fun, not profit. All kudos for the awesome universe go to JK Rowling.**

 **...**

Pollux Black was dying. The wasting sickness had struck him suddenly and unexpectedly at the very young age -for a wizard- of seventy seven. The Healers had been unable to provide a solution and the Arithmancers predicted he would not survive another year without a cure - a cure that was beyond current Healing techniques. His dreams of seeing the rise of the House of Black from the ashes of the last war, enjoying the benefits of a resurgence in pureblood supremacy, those were things he would never see. Others would reap the rewards of the House's new growth and his line would see all they'd ever wanted be taken from them unjustly... for at his wife Irma's insistence, the Healers had checked their son Cygnus as well. The boy, all of fifty-one, showed early signs of the same wasting sickness. They were not as advanced as Pollux's but they were bad enough; he would live another three, maybe four years.

Pollux's quiet fury at the unfair future of his line was as great as it was quiet. It would not do for the enemies of the House to become aware of their success quite yet. One such enemy others in the House had unwisely embraced and were blindly following to their doom. Not so, Pollux and his line. Irma had proven invaluable in ferreting out the enemy's secrets and after the Healers had confirmed her good health, he'd sent her away in her paternal relatives the Crabbes to get her away from the enemy's grasp. There she could use information, the gold he'd leave her upon his death, and her own considerable skills to slowly build up opposition.

The Blacks would not vanish quietly into the night...

 **...**

"I can't believe things are going so well!" the old banker said, handing over the thick folder containing summaries of investments and yields, movements of capital from one account to another, the spreading spiderweb of a chain of companies and trusts under a single woman's control.

"You're forgetting Arithmancy and Divination, Marius." Iris said as she leafed through the folder. Economics had never been her strong point so total income amounts was all she was checking. If her uncle decided to skim off the profits a bit, well, good for him. It wasn't as if she was that greedy and selfish. Besides, she would always know if he tried to take too much; Legilimency had its advantages. "The ability to predict the future is precisely why wizardkind will never have a stock market or any other form of fluid economy. But using those two areas of magic on the muggle markets? Massive profits are a given." It did help to have an economic cheat sheet from three and a half decades in the future, as well as personal experience with future advances in technology.

"You're sure cellphones and personal computers are not just a passing trend then?" The old banker asked doubtfully. "They look as futuristic as, well, flying cars."

"We both know that flying vehicles are possible, Marius." The two of them chuckled. "But yes, communications will be a huge new market. They will be very much like the advent of broom companies in the wizarding world. Till the beginning of the century everyone built their own brooms, and the majority of them could barely outfly a chicken." Iris relaxed back in the comfortable black leather armchair and sipped from her Firewhiskey-filled crystal glass. The expensive quasi-magical liquor had been her addition to this meeting, and much appreciated by both her and her uncle. Too bad she couldn't down more than a sip or two or risk passing out as soon as she reverted to her younger body. "Nowadays we have brooms that can outpace any muggle ground vehicle and are slowly closing the gap with muggle aircraft, while muggle aerospace industry seems to have hit a brick wall. Don't invest in that area, will you? There won't be another moon landing for half a century at least and even commercial flights will suffer losses."

"Really?" Her uncle stayed silent for a good minute, digesting the news. "I hear your side of the family has its own broom company now. Planning any moon landings yet?" They both had a great laugh at that, and the discussion continued on lighter matters.

 **...**

"Did you know that in the muggle world only women care about brooms that much?" Cassiopeia said dryly upon entering Arcturus' study and finding him up to his eyes in legal papers about the new company. "If you spend any more time in here, Melania will not just send you to the couch for the night; she'll lock you into the broom cupboard."

"I'm way too old for this." The aging wizard scowled at the nearest stack of parchment. It refused to be intimidated. "Do you know how many of those are just complaints merely wrapped up in legalese? About half." He shook his head. "The other half being our competitors' attempts to drown us in bureaucracy."

"Well, naturally." Cassiopeia said testily. "You didn't introduce a broom twice as good as any other in the world and charge for it five times as much as other professional models and expect not to work up a storm of opposition, did you?"

"When we take over the Ministry, remind me to fire all the useless parchment-pushers, will you?" For the first time Arcturus looked every bit as old as his nine decades would on a muggle. "I just didn't expect... all this!" He said, pointing at the stacks with flagging energies.

"You know what, cousin?" Cassiopeia looked at him worriedly. "Burn them all and move the company to Haiti. If they refused to pander to the International Confederation of Wizards on the ban of Necromancy and other Dark Arts, I doubt they'll do so over a few brooms. Even better, you can give their national team Firebolts for free and every other team in the world would then have to buy them or risk losing due to inferior brooms. With about a thousand international Quidditch players and the price you set for the brooms..."

"Since when do you know how many international Quidditch players are there?" Arcturus asked suspiciously, even as he drew his wand gleefully at his cousin's suggestion.

"The muggles call it osmosis, dear." The elder Black witch rolled her eyes. "I call it 'living in proximity to Quidditch-mad relatives.'"

"That's a mouthful. Besides we're all mad." Arcturus waved his wand setting fire to all the pieces of parchment in the vicinity and then cackling like some other members of his family often did. A few seconds later though, exhaustion and surprise replaced mirth on his face. "Merlin, I don't feel so good..." And then he promptly fainted.

 **...**

"How is he?" Iris asked her aunt worriedly as they stood over Arcturus' bed. Her cousins were there too; Sirius was both angry and worried while Bellatrix looked on indifferently. No surprise there.

"Dying." Cassiopeia said bluntly, and all three cousins stared at her. "So am I, for that matter. I may have one more year than his remaining two but the first signs are already there."

"What?" Bellatrix said incredulously, and with a hint of alarm. "You're both healthy, middle-aged individuals with strong magic. How is that possible?" The half-mad Black witch might not be willing to admit it but she was somewhat fond of her great aunt, Iris had found out. Probably because the elder Black witch had taught her a lot about dark magic back when Bellatrix was a teenager."

"It goes with being a Black, dear." Cassiopeia said solemnly. "Our family has been cursed numerous times by our many enemies over the ages that our health is often more fragile than it should be, for witches and wizards." Inbreeding might make things a bit worse, too, in Iris' opinion. On the other hand...

"I am not sure that's it, aunt Cassiopeia." Iris spoke up. "A bit suspicious isn't it? You and uncle Arcturus getting sick at the same time as Pollux and Cygnus?" In fact, it was very suspicious - especially given the family's attempted comeback into power.

"Indeed." The elder witch said. "I don't see what we can do about it though. Whether it's due to a curse or not Pollux is already fading, Arcturus will last a year or two longer at most, and Cygnus and I will be joining them by the end of '92 at the latest. No cure since it's not a known disease, and no culprit to blame either."

Her aunt went on but Iris had stopped listening when the date was mentioned. "Could it be?" she asked no-one in particular, biting her lips in thought and not bothering to answer the questioning glances of her relatives. "I'll be right back - I need to check something." As fast as her nine-year-old body's really short legs would allow her, she ran to the Black Family Tapestry. Once there, it didn't take her long to confirm her thoughts. Both angry and worried, she marched slowly back to uncle Arcturus' room.

"I checked the Tapestry." She explained as Cassiopeia, Sirius and Bellatrix looked on curiously. "Alphard died in '77 at the age of forty-five of no apparent causes and has been blasted off it. However supportive he was of you, Sirius, I doubt that would have been enough to get him expelled from the House. I suspect he was killed for not being a Voldemort supporter."

"Good man." Sirius said firmly, but angrily. Iris could not blame him. Cassiopeia was thoughtful, though Bellatrix's expression only betrayed confusion. Her aunt seemed to have caught on to Iris' train of thought because she gestured for her to go on, probably expecting what would follow.

"Regulus died in '79, in his heroic but rather ill-planned defiance to Voldemort." The young-seeming girl stared at her relatives intently now. "His father Orion followed him to the grave in mere months, at the age of fifty. Fabian and Gideon Prewett die opposing Voldemort in late '81 and their aunt Lucretia Prewett nee Black perishes months later at the age of sixty-seven. James Potter, son of Dorea Black, dies at Voldemort's own hands in '81 as well and Walburga Black, his only remaining recognized first cousin, descends into full insanity. Four years later, she dies at the age of sixty."

"Generational curse." Cassiopeia confirmed with a nod.

"Wait, you lost me." Sirius says. "All those early deaths are terribly suspicious, I admit, but how could Voldemort be responsible for them? He was not close by when they happened. He was not even alive for some of them!"

"What do they teach you youngsters these days?" Cassiopeia asked in exasperation. Behind her, Bellatrix gave a morbid smile at Sirius' confusion. "A generational curse is the most powerful form of malicious magic known. It is so named because it can last for generations, and it is applied to institutions, not individuals. Families, buildings, political groups, every individual that performs a specific magically-significant act or goes through a magically-significant event while exposed to the curse. There are no limits to what it can do, except the magical power provided and the imagination of the caster."

Iris nodded in agreement. "If Voldemort cast it, I doubt he tied it to a source of magic other than himself. He is arrogant enough to believe he can live forever, after all. And because of his Horcruxes, he did not die in 81'. He was only weakened. That was probably why reprisals through the curse were swift while he was in power, but Walburga's death was delayed for four years."

"How does this tie to what's happening now?" Bellatrix said angrily - almost accusingly. "If he's been weakened for nearly a decade, the curse's effects should have slowed down to a crawl." Was her half-mad cousin now worried she'd become a target of her former master's influence? Inwardly, Iris laughed at the irony.

"There have been rumors." She said out loud. "Animals have been found drained of life in Albania, especially snakes. Life-draining can be done in many ways, all of them dark magic, but nobody has seen any dark wizards around. The Albanian authorities are looking into the matter and you can bet the community of dark wizards that lives there has done the same; they wouldn't want any foreign competition." Iris was cheating a bit with future knowledge; it would take Dumbledore nearly another year to discover and piece together those facts and start preparing for Voldemort's return. Giving the other Blacks an early warning however could be invaluable. "Seeing as someone anchored to life by a horcrux after his body was destroyed is a formless spirit capable of possessing and draining the living to slowly regain power..."

"He's returning." Cassiopeia said with a scowl. "That's why the curse is striking again now. Merlin's arse, it will be like Koschei the Deathless all over again."

"Who?" Asked Iris with interest.

"Russian madman obsessed with immortality. Caused untold havoc in Eastern Europe during the sixteenth century." Cassiopeia smirked. "Had protected his Horcrux too well from any of his enemies but a muggle managed to steal it because the defenses had not been designed against an entirely nonmagical individual. When the ICW formed, the local magical communities tried to erase all accounts of that story." The inferi-infested underground lake and the locket Horcrux came to Iris mind. Voldemort had similarly miscalculated there, failing to account for both house elves and underage wizards. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had not thought to invite any of Hogwarts' elves along either; things would have turned out very differently if he had.

"You're discussing ancient history now?" Sirius asked incredulously. "What are we going to do about the curse?"

"I doubt we can do anything." Iris admitted. "If I were at full strength perhaps... then again, Dumbledore never managed to remove a similar curse Voldemort put on the Defense against the Dark Arts post in Hogwarts back in 1956."

"That post is really cursed then?" Sirius said. "Ha! Remus owes me ten Galleons!"

"Of course you and your nasty friends would bet on such matters." Bellatrix said with evident disgust. "Immature little boys, the lot of you."

"That's neither here nor there." Cassiopeia interrupted them before they could start another fight. "Given the new... limitations on our time, we have far too many things to do to devolve to infighting. Everything must be ready before Iris and the Potter boy go to Hogwarts next year." Suddenly, it was as if a Wand-Lighting Charm had gone off in Iris' brain.

"There might be a solution." She said, trying to hide her excitement. Why had she not thought about this earlier? "Could we delay this wasting sickness till late December of '91?"

"Unlikely." Cassiopeia said, looking at the young girl curiously. "The Healers have been unable to do anything but relieve the symptoms. Arcturus might possibly have that long - thought I doubt it - but Pollux certainly doesn't. Cygnus and I probably do, but that's cold comfort."

"Meh. Iris could transfigure you into knuts and be done with it. It's not as if Pollux at least is worth any more than that." Sirius said flippantly, then noticed their expressions. "Come on, ladies, I know I am awesome but there's no reason to look poleaxed on my account. Or rather, there might be. It's my fabulous looks, isn't it? I always have that effect on the weaker-" Bellatrix kicked him and he doubled over, mouth gaping in a soundless scream, eyes wide and unfocused at the shock. Iris was impressed; she didn't know a girl could kick that high without losing her balance while wearing that long a dress and that high heels.

"Your cousin's usual idiocy aside, that's actually a good idea." The eldest Black witch said then looked down at Iris. "Could you pull off human transfiguration at that level that could last for years?"

"No need to." Iris said with a smile. They would save the Black family. "There's always the Petrification Curse. Even better at providing suspended animation since there's no risk of you losing your minds."

 **...**

Irma Crabbe collapsed on her bed in her own old room in her ancestral home. She'd just survived an interrogation session with her less than intelligent but brutal male relatives mostly intact in both mind and body; that had to be a new record. The gold and the information had helped of course. Not that she'd given them everything, but what she'd already shared was enough to ensure her sanctuary and at least some respect. She might even be able to move freely while the Crabbes took steps to cover their collective arses before the Dark Lord made his return.

Except for the Blacks, she was the only one that knew of the Dark Lord's method of immortality now. That was an advantage that would greatly improve her chances no matter which side she aligned herself with. But before venturing out into even deeper waters, there was one ally she could take into her confidence. With Pollux dying and the other elder Blacks already sick, the younger generation would soon take control of the family. Cygnus wouldn't last much longer, and those married into other families had their own problems. It would come up to Sirius, Bellatrix, and Iris, sooner rather than later. The dog was a non-entity, hardly versed or interested in politics and presumed dead. The girl would be trouble; she was smart, resourceful, and powerful. But she was also a child of mixed lineage; Dorea's get she might be but who was the father? That and her being physically and legally underage would limit her ability to oppose Irma's plans.

Those plans had to do with her granddaughter. Bellatrix was a murderess many times over, a confirmed wielder of forbidden magic, and also presumed dead. But that state of legal nonexistence and her reputation might allow her to move in the criminal underworld quickly and decisively while more legally acceptable relatives had control in the eyes of outsiders. Decision made, Irma considered how to contact the one ally she still had, and how much to tell her. It was time to contact her son's wife, Druella Rosier.


	14. A perfect beginning

**Arashi IV of IV/carick of hunter moon/geetac: thanks!  
**

 **Blitzstrahl: what conversion rate are you using? Gold price is around $36 per gram, thus 19 million grams would be $684 million.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Order confine Sirius in a house he hated for protection when there are so many ways to magically disguise someone? If yes, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I am merely using the universe she created for fun, nonprofit storytelling.**

 **...**

"Hello." The young girl said in a too-serious tone for her age as she looked up at Minerva McGonagal. "Can I help you?" A bit above average height for her age, not very athletic, quite intelligent if her piercing stare was any indication, and with either little interest in looking her best, or resigned to tolerate an untamable brown mane of epic proportions. Within only a few seconds, the very experienced Professor had the girl pegged as "intelligent, academically inclined, young female, one" even as the younger witch had catalogued her elder as "peculiar, well-dressed, unknown, old female, one." Had they access to each other's thoughts, the similarity of their mental process would have given them a good laugh.

"Are your parents here, Miss Granger?" The Deputy Headmistress asked with her best smile. The Granger girl might be the oldest of all the new Muggleborn students this year, but she was not yet twelve years old... and yet had answered the door with the confidence and calm of someone twice her age.

"I do not see why that would be a stranger's business." The young girl answered curtly giving the strange-looking visitor a thoughtful frown. "Who might you be and how do you know my name?" Hermione was very certain the middle-aged woman in the rather elaborate black-and-emerald dress was neither one of her parents' clients nor from anywhere nearby. The cut of her clothing was unusual and the seams, while expertly made, were not practically identical in the way that indicated automated sewing. People that wore genuine 1800s' period dresses did not grow on trees, and were unusual enough that her parents would have commented on their acquaintance.

"My name is Minerva McGonagal." The Transfiguration Professor answered with a sigh. It was going to be one of _those_ visits, with her trying to convince her new student and her parents of the existence of magic, and them bringing up multiple logical arguments as to why shuch a thing could not exist. She'd rather feared that since she'd discovered the Grangers were doctors, and their daughter's attitude would not improve matters. "I am a faculty member of an old, very prestigious school for... gifted individuals and your talents, young lady, have come to our attention." Better ease the whole family into this situation; the existence of magic was never an easy thing to accept.

"Old, prestigious school?" The new set of unsigned packages she'd gotten for her eleventh birthday over nine months ago used that exact wording to describe... "Are you from Hogwarts?" Hermione suddenly asked with excitement, leaving the Professor gobsmacked.

"Who is at the door, dear?" Her mother asked from the kitchen long before Minerva McGonagal could recover from that little bombshell. "You aren't giving any visitors a hard time again, are you?" Still in shock, the Deputy Headmistress was ushered inside. This was obviously going to be a highly irregular visit...

 **...**

"Aaand done." Iris said, wiping copious amounts of sweat from her forehead. Bottling the contents of the small cauldron in an unbreakable, undetectably expanded bottle, she scowled at her smiling cousin. "You should have learned to brew this yourself you know. Not taking advantage of your younger and/or older relatives."

"Don't be such a baby. Practice makes perfect!" Sirius said with a mischeivous smirk, his hands trembling with the effort of not immediately snatching the potion bottle out of his cousin's hands. "And don't worry, I'll put this to good use. How long will a single dose last?"

"Seven hours. Potions were never my greatest talent." Working Sirius' exact words in her mind again, she stared at him, eyes narrowed. "You will only use this to impersonate uncle Arcturus, understand? If I get word of any shenanigans involving Polyjuice, or that you didn't follow aunt Cassiopeia's exact instructions, I'll get out of Hogwarts, find you, and turn you into Bellatrix with it. Then I'll tell our dear cousin that it was your idea."

"You're no fun." Sirius said glumly, practically deflating before her eyes. "You get to be a kid again and instead of using the opportunity to party as anyone normal would do, it's only plots, plots, plots for you. You remind me so much of Narcissa at your age it's depressing."

"We, the House of Black, are slowly taking control of wizarding Britain in order to avoid another war if Voldemort returns." The eleven-year-old girl reminded the thirty-year-old man sternly. "It's supposed to be full of backstabbings, and backstage deals, and the monster called politics. Nine tenths paperwork and socializing, and one tenth sitting in a hard, cold, stone seat in good, old, dank and musty Courtroom Ten." One dark eyebrow rose, emerald eyes gleaming with amusement. "If you want fun, you could challenge our cousin to another duel."

"After three years of daily dueling sessions among you two and dear aunt Cassie, the most learned dark witch in the family?" Sirius shuddered. "I'll take the frozen arse and cramped, ink-spotted fingers, thank you."

"Gee, Sirius, where's your sense of adventure? Where's your Gryffindor daring?" The girl shook her head at the perpetual teenager that was her former godfather, her now longer and straighter black hair cascading over her shoulders with the motion. Styling potions were a wonder, especially Sleekeasy's. Naturally, it had been invented by a Potter. Just as naturally, the potioneer Fleamont Potter was noted as James Potter's father, and thus Iris' grandfather... when Iris herself had always believed Charlus Potter to be so instead. The Black family tapestry supported her even - was this yet another sign of paradox?

"Whatever." Her ex-godfather said, changing the subject. "What will Bellatrix be doing while I'm playing politics and wearing Granfather's face?"

"She'll be Chief of Security of the newly created Black Enterprises - under a false identity of course." Iris responded, storing a few more useful potions she'd been brewing. A few of those she'd be taking with her to Hogwarts, especially the Aging Potion. Physically growing into an adult self was safer and could last longer than Polyjuicing into her old form. Besides, in the future timeline she'd grown up suffering of malnutrition and had to recover from countless injuries over the years. Now, after years of exercise and healthy eating, the adult body she had to look forward to was... significantly improved. Too bad she wouldn't be changing her age very often.

"Really?" Sirius asked, unaware of where his cousin's thoughts wandered. "How did you convince dear cousin Bella to do legitimate work?"

"Our people need serious combat training in light of a potential second war. We also have no reason to train them that they or the Ministry will accept, and over half of them are muggleborns." Iris gave Sirius the patented Black cackle. "Bellatrix has to pretend to be a paranoid and possibly bigoted security chielf that puts muggleborns through borderline insane exercises on any excuse, most often for her own amusement. I think she'll do fine." She finished dryly.

"I'll say." Sirius agreed. "Well cousin, this has been a blast but I, the great and mighty Arcturus Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black have much work to do. Be seeing you."

"Not so fast, mister." Iris stopped him before he could disappear. "You still have to help me pack and tandem-Apparate me to Platform Nine and Three Quarters."

"Slavedriver!" The 'mighty' Head of House Black protested. "Why do you have to go, anyway? You are beyond NEWT-level in most subjects."

"Funny you should ask that." The ex Head Auror said, thinking about the abysmal Defense teachers, the Philosopher's Stone, the House rivalries, the Chamber of Secrets, a certain rat animagus, the Triwizard Tournament, Snape, the Horcruxes, the Room of Requirement, and all her other deadly adventures she had to go through with little to no support. Then she thought of Harry Potter, her counterpart in this timeline, the little boy that would go through the same hell unless someone helped him. "I think I'm going to have fun."

 **...**

The Dursleys had not been at all interested in driving him to London. They'd given him just enough money for a one-way trip via train and had sent him away with the hope that he'll get hopelessly lost and they'd be rid of him once and for all. Unfortunately for them, just a few hours after the letter from his new school had arrived via owl, another envelope had simply appeared on his desk with a soft 'pop'. Barricading himself in his new room to avoid any Dudley-related interference, he'd read the detailed instructions of how to find Diagon Alley, get money from the goblins after confirming his identity with a blood test, and do everything required to be where he was now; an entire train platform somehow hidden away not only from the sight of muggles but also from Geometry and Common Sense, and their joint mandate that something so large could not possibly be hidden simply due to the space it took up.

"You're late, cousin." The girl that looked like his twin sister said. His more athletic, better-looking sister, Harry thought with a hint of annoyance. Being starved by the Dursleys might be a thing of the past but his clothes were still a far cry from the expertly tailored, expensive dress robe Iris was wearing. To her obvious wealth add her poise, confidence, and magical ability and Harry's doubts about fitting in this new world reared their ugly head.

"Stop that!" Iris commanded, once again proving her uncanny ability to know what Harry was thinking. "The only reason for our differences is that I've been practicing magic for a lot longer, trained for years under tutors that make the Dursleys seem positively angelic in comparison, and had the sense to buy something nice for myself, not just the things on my list." She was being the caring but all-knowing older sister again; Harry hated that version of the girl, mainly because he could not fault her reasoning. "You have to break this habit of doing just enough to get by, Harry. The Dursleys won't lock you up or starve you if you do better than Dudley or his friends now. On the contrary, the wizarding world will hurt you if you don't do enough; you've read all about the expectations they have of the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I did not ask for my fame." He told her once again. How many times have they had this conversation now?

"I know you didn't." Iris sighed. "But you have to be ready, Harry. Fame, wanted or otherwise, attracts enemies. And enemies with magic can be terrible. I've been trying to help you prepare, you know. Did you get into Diagon Alley by yourself or did Hagrid take you?"

"Hagrid helped." Harry admitted, knowing it was useless trying to keep a secret from his cousin. "Was that one of your little tests then? What was the point?"

"The point was seeing how being proactive can help you in the long run. Had you not waited for Hagrid you'd have had more time to read your textbooks." Iris admonished as she helped him load his trunk into the Hogwarts express. Harry saw her struggle with the weight and laughed; he couldn't help it, knowing how either of them could have lifted it with magic. Since Iris had insisted they keep their full abilities a secret however, and Iris knew best, Iris could make a fool of herself struggling like that, too. Finally realizing the futility of her efforts, his cousin cheated by making the trunk lighter and then pretending to success by strength alone... and finishing with a kick to the offending piece of luggage for good measure. "Yeah, yeah, laugh now that you can, cousin. You won't always have a smart girl by your side solving all your problems for you. I'll personally make sure of it."

Rolling his eyes at the girl's antics, Harry disregarded her ominous pronouncement and led the search for an empty compartment.

 **...**

"Is this seat taken?" The tall redheaded boy said hesitantly as he entered Harry and Iris' compartment a few minutes later. "Everywhere else is full."

"Of course it is." Iris said sweetly. "Can't you see one of my cousins sitting there under an Invisibility Cloak?" The former Girl-Who-Lived couldn't resist having a bit of fun at Ron's expense after the redhead's little white lie. She would have never noticed it if she had not reviewed all her memories of her Hogwarts years in preparation for enrolling once again, but Ron's statement could not have been true. For one, Fred and George had not gone to sit with their friend Lee Jordan till later so that was at least one compartment with open seats confirmed. For another, the train had been prepared with the larger pre-war generations in mind and stood now only two-thirds full. On the other hand, Ron had even less confidence than Harry and sitting with older students, his brothers, or a group of other purebloods would have been a daunting challenge for the eleven year old Weasley boy.

"Oh. Uh... I'll be going then."

"Seriously?" Harry asked before Ron could leave. "Needling me all the time I can understand, but playing a prank on somebody else?" Harry turned to the youngest Weasley boy and gave him a welcome smile. "Don't mind my cousin, she's always doing things like that. Sit anywhere you like."

"Thanks!" Ron said, his own smile widening. His uncertain look returned as he glanced at Iris again. "Cousin? I thought..."

"That he's Harry Potter?" Iris said dryly. "You're right. I'm still his cousin though."

"Unfortunately." Harry added with a mock suffering look. Iris elbowed him playfully, and they both burst out in laughter.

"Harry Potter, pleased to meet you." Ron shyly shook the offered hand.

"Ron Weasley." He said, then turned towards Iris.

"Iris Black." The girl said, seeing her former friend's eyes widen comincally. "Yes, I am one of those Blacks."

"And you're cousins?" Ron blurted, mouth agape.

"I'm cousins with many people. The Blacks are a big family." Iris said airily. "Bellatrix Black, Sirius Black, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black - you've heard of us, yes?" Ron now was so red in the face he could be taken for a giant tomato. "Some of my aunts you must know, too. Callidora Black who married into the Longbottoms, and Cedrella Black who married one Septimus Weasley. She's your grandmother, no?"

Harry was quietly laughing in his chair now, having abandoned his attempts to elbow Iris into oblivion - not that he was getting anywhere against the weak Shield Charm Iris had cast - when Fred and George Weasley burst into the cabin.

"There you are, Ron." The first twin said with a smile. "I see you've found a seat..."

"...are you sure you don't want to sit with us?" The other twin said. "We'll be joining Lee Jordan..."

"...and his giant tarantula." Obviously horrified at the offer, Ron shook his head and immediately sat between Harry and Iris. The girl gave the twins a wink and a smirk, while Harry rolled his eyes at that.

"Hmm, I guess we'll invite someone else." George said and the two of them grinned. They'd probably been following their younger brother either to make fun of him, or at their mother's request, and must have been waiting outside to listen in on Ron's first contact with Harry. Their next statement confirmed that.

"See you later Harry, miss Black."

"You're just like them!" Ron accused after the Twins had left; Iris took it as a compliment.

"A very great prankster once told me I'm not having enough fun in my life." Iris shrugged. "I'm trying to follow his advice."

 **...**

Iris had stayed out of the boys' conversation for some time now, alllowing them to get to know each other and possibly become friends without interference. She'd only participated when the talk turned to Quidditch, to Ron's great surprise, but had quickly fallen silent again when Ron took out 'Scabbers the Rat'. Trying to suppress her rising anger at the traitor with Occlumency was not working very well and she was very happy with the distraction that suddenly barged into their compartment.

"Could you please stay still for a moment?" A bushy-haired, buck-toothed brunette said as she entered, holding up a series of finger-sized wooden tablets with a subtly glowing rune each hanging from a string. "We're searching for a toad." The two boys looked at Hermione Granger in annoyance, and Iris sighed, took out her wand and cast.

 _Finite!_

The glow of the runes faded, the minor magic put into them by Hermione's inexpert attempts easily quashed by her counterspell.

"Wha-" Iris' once best friend looked surprised for a moment, then furious. "Why did you do that!" She demanded.

"Because you were rude." Iris said calmly. "Not only did you get in unannounced, but you started using magic near or on us without asking."

"I'm trying to help Neville find his toad!" Hermione insisted with all the self-righteousness she could bring to bear when she was certain she was in the right and that others were wrong. It had always been her greatest flaw in the other timeline - and here too, from what Iris could see.

"What if we had been a group of seventh-years, snogging? What if we had been changing into our school robes? What if we had been a bunch of prejudiced Purebloods more than willing to hex the first year muggleborn that fell in our hands?" Iris countered. "Besides, there's a far easier and safer way to find Neville's toad."

"Oh yeah?" Hermione challenged, her hair becoming bushier by the moment, like an angry cat's. Untamable hair was often a sign of accidental magic. "Let's hear it, then!" Iris sighed. She'd liked the other girl much better after the troll incident, after she'd learned she could have friends, that she didn't have to hide behind smug superiority all the time. A small confrontation in the safety of Hogwarts Express was not enough to shake her out of it, it would seem.

"You could ask a Prefect for help." She finally said. Letting the troll incident happen again was a risky proposition, but Iris was beginning to think the best friendships could only be forged through adversity, not safety and common sense - unfortunately.

 **...**

"Is it true?" Draco Malfoy asked as he and his two bodyguards entered the compartment. "Everybody says that Harry Pott... you!" Iris smirked. Her other, less likeable cousin had finally noticed her. "What are you doing here?"

"We're the same age, Draco, so we'd both go to Hogwarts at the same time." She took another Chocolate Frog out of the large bag Harry had bought for all of them, while the other boys observed her and Draco's interaction. "If you're here to meet the great Harry Potter, I must admit to being disappointed."

"Really?" Draco Malfoy said, trying not to sound his usual challenging and pompous self. He knew what would follow if he did. "How so?"

"For one thing, you're late. Neville Longbottom came by a good hour earlier, as did several of the Weasleys - not to mention a muggleborn witch that was a bit too clever for her own good." Iris shrugged. "For another, I doubt Harry will be impressed by your offer of alliance if you insult his new friends while giving it."

Draco scowled but could not refute Iris' words. "Right." He turned towards Harry and offered his hand. "I don't know what cousin Iris has been telling you Potter, but it would be unwise to only listen to her opinions." He whispered conspiratorially, though not so quietly that everyone couldn't hear him. "She can be rather annoying at times, you know what I mean?" Ron laughed for as long as it took him to realize he was laughing at Draco malfoy's joke, and even Harry smiled a bit.

"Yeah, she's always trying to mother people... or nag them to death big-sister style." Harry agreed. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Just that some wizarding families are far better than others." Draco said, and Ron scowled. "It would be best if you were more... careful whom you made friends with."

"Maybe." Harry said dubiously, but without rejecting the proposition outright. "Perhaps if people proved they were my friends by being friendly?"

Draco left, disappointment evident on his face, but without hints of anger. For a few minutes the compartment was quiet - but not for long.

"What was that about?" Ron asked heatedly. "Should I 'prove' I am a friend now, whatever that means?"

"Excellent performance, Harry." Iris said with a smile before Ron could explode. "Thanks for trusting me, too."

"Why did you ask me to do all that?" Harry asked at the same time Ron demanded; "What performance?"

"I coached Harry into confusing Draco." Iris explained to the both of them, but addressing Ron foremost. "For a future Slytherin, my other cousin is terribly direct and not very perceptive. If Harry rejected him outright, he'd probably throw a tantrum and might even start a fight. But now he's confused just as you were - how can he prove he's Harry friend? Until he thinks this through, he can't return to his plans of befriending the Great Harry Potter."

"So you tricked him!" Ron said, smiling once more.

Iris despaired of ever healing the rift between the Houses, or understanding teenagers again - teenage body or no.


	15. A perfect division

**Sorry guys, suffering from writer's block for this story. Finally posted this small chapter because I could not delay my schedule any further. Hopefully it'll tide you over until I can write some more.**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. We're all just playing in her back yard for fun, not profit. After all, she made enough profits to have a big enough back yard to fit all of us in the first place.**

 **...**

Crossing the Black Lake on a boat at night, with the stars hanging overhead and the castle illuminated by hundreds of torches and magical lights in the distance brought back some of the happiest memories of Iris' future past. Hogwarts had been her first and perhaps only true home, the one place she found friends, people that cared about her, information about her parents that had been denied to her, mentors that however imperfectly had tried to forge her into the woman she'd eventually become, a world she had been happy to join and a promising future. No matter how things turned out in the end, how many times she'd been in mortal peril, how badly her future ended up being due to the Ministry's ineptitude and the malice of a terrorist organization, she would not change those spires, walls, and towers for anything.

Hagrid, one of the few people she had unambiguously positive feelings for, once again guided the small fleet of oarless boats into the cave that served as the castle's waterside entrance. Seeing things again with the eyes of experience, Iris could appreciate just how capable her largest friend was at his job despite his many apparent faults. Very few of all the wizards she'd ever met would have been capable of guiding dozens of boats magically without benefit of a wand, none with only three years of magical education.

"A sight to remember, isn't it?" she asked Harry, seeing him gape at Hogwarts in all its late night glory.

"Awesome!" the boy agreed, nodding enthusiastically. For all Iris and the House of Black had been able to do for him over the past few years, she doubted that the Dursleys' house would feel like a home to him. Coming to Hogwarts for the first time would be one of the greatest and most welcome milestones in her counterpart's life. Doing so with at least a few friends and some knowledge of the magical world would hopefully change Harry's experiences in the castle for the better. Iris would give much to be able to save Harry from the isolation, unreasonable expectations, prejudices, and enmity he'd have to face in the years to come - and already had a plan to do just that. The only way she could protect her new, much younger cousin from the problems wizarding Britain, rather than Fate, would place on his shoulders was to take the limelight herself as much as possible. It was one of the reasons she'd displayed more of her magical skills than she otherwise would have every time she met with the scions of other Pureblood families, as well as on the Hogwarts express. If an apparent prodigy drew the attention of the faculty and the Ministry in later years, Harry would have to deal with less.

Hagrid deposited them in the small port deep in the foundations of the great castle and handed them over to Professor McGonagal exactly as he'd done in Iris' time. Iris had reviewed her memories of her first year repeatedly in the family Pensieve as part of her preparations for coming to Hogwarts. That was done for many reasons. Familiarizing herself with the vocabulary children used had been a good idea - she could explain away a few slips as her being more advanced and intelligent than the typical child but the more perceptive faculty members might notice something was not right if she went too far. Getting a second view of events with an adult's understanding was just as important, giving her an opportunity to better understand events. But most important of all, she had to know all the details of key events to be able to tell how much Paradox or her presence had changed things, and how much her future knowledge would apply. It would be pretty embarassing to be ready to face a troll in a bathroom for example, only to have said troll take her by surprise as she is climbing the stairs and beat her to a pulp in a single blow. Fortunately, Professor McGonagal's introduction was as she remembered it word for word, and even her timing and the way she moved gave Iris such a strong sense of Deja Vu that she was certain that event at least had not been altered.

"First years huh?" The Fat Friar said as the ghosts arrived en masse, scaring or at least surprising the gathered first years. The Hufflepuff House Ghost had just given her an opportunity to put her plans to work though, so instead of reacting strongly to the ghosts, she spoke to them in a rather bored tone.

"Yes, yes, you'd rather see all of us in Hufflepuff. My aunt told me all about how you practically say the same thing every year." That response and her being the only one to talk back immediately drew everyone's attention; perfect. "Where's your Hufflepuff loyalty, Fat Friar? You wouldn't really want would-be dark witches and wizards in your House, would you? Or people so smart they never have to work hard to succeed? Or those too reckless and daring to have an ounce of common sense? That desire of yours to see all of us in your old House had always struck me as rather odd."

"Why, I never...! That was rather rude, young lady!" The ghost tried to chastise her, but several other first-years were snickering now, while others looked on with admiration at her daring and confidence.

"It was, wasn't it? Then, so is this one." A wave of her wand and a whispered _Ventus!_ hurled the Fat Friar away and through a nearby wall by creating a strong gust of wind. Not a strong spell - a clever or dedicated first year could manage it - it was one of the few that worked on ghosts, as she'd learned in her second year in the previous timeline. Gusts of wind were how they'd managed to move Nearly-Headless Nick after he was incapacitated by the Basilisk, after all. "My family warned me about him." She said to her year mates. "He is always trying to browbeat us firsties before the Sorting, something the Black family is not willing to take from anyone; we make our own choices." A few people laughed, Draco Malfoy included. Harry seemed uncertain so she winked at him. "By the way, this spell is usable on any ghost or similar spirit that annoys you, though using it on Peeves the Poltergeist is not advised. He can and will return fire - with interest!"

After that brief interlude the firsties calmed down again, though now many of them could be caught glancing at her every now and again. Excellent; phase one of the plan was already in the works. She wouldn't be able to draw away the spotlight from Harry entirely during the Sorting - it was far too soon - though a suddenly appearing Black heiress ought to upset a few people, let alone one following in Sirius' footsteps in her Sorting. From then she'd only have to protect Harry from the oncoming dangers. If her future knowledge applied, it should be simple enough. Trolls, traps, even Quirrel would not be as directly dangerous as facing a powerful ex-Death Eater in a duel.

The Sorting Hat sang its song and surprised the non-purebloods plus Ron with being the means of dividing students into Houses, and then there came the moment of truth for many. Truth to tell, Iris was a bit bored and more than a bit hungry. She had been sorted before, after all, and had just made a day-long trip with only sweets and light snacks. At least she was second in line to be sorted, right after Hannah Abbott who once more went to Hufflepuff. Walking confidently up to the stool everyone had to sit on to be judged before the entire school at age eleven, she was already looking forward to a nice dinner. She had a lot of work to do tommorow, including coaching Harry how not to draw unwanted attention from Severus Snape in their first Potions class in the coming Friday.

SLYTHERIN!

Wait, what?! She'd barely sat on the stool and the hat had not even touched her head properly before making its proclamation. Thoroughly shocked, it took a few moments for Iris to think straight again and start moving towards the table decorated in green and silver. Bloody hell, the stupid hat had not even given her an opportunity to argue her case like last time...

 **...**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was worried. Well, he was always worried about something, but this time the Black heiress took center stage in his thoughts. His vague suspicions on who was influencing Harry Potter's life with the Dursleys had naturally included the Blacks despite - or even because of - the loss of Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black a few short years ago.

This new heiress was strange business, as well. She'd literally appeared out of the blue, only becoming known to those keeping an eye on the Black family due to accidental magic warnings in known Black residences over the past half-decade. Arcturus Black had only registered her with the Ministry in her seventh year and had confirmed her attending Hogwarts rather than being homeschooled only a few months ago. Before that she might as well not have existed, with how little Dumbledore's inquiries had uncovered.

And now she was a student here, in the same year as Harry Potter. Coincidence? Albus had long since stopped believing in them. This girl had already displayed some familiarity with the Boy-Who-Lived, as the portraits whispering information in his ears had seen. More alarming still was the girl's behavior. Extremely confident and self-sufficient, able to use magic already despite her young age, and rather vindictive as her encounter with the Fat Friar had proven. The Hufflepuff House ghost had certainly been negative enough in his report. That she'd been sorted into Slytherin faster than even young Mister Malfoy was no surprise. The only question was whether whatever influence she had would be enough to steer young Harry towards Slytherin as well...

 **...**

GRYFFINDOR!

Harry took off the Sorting Hat in relief. As he'd been worried it would, it had nearly sent him to Slytherin. It had taken well over five minutes for Harry to convince it otherwise - not that the rest of the school had realized, thankfully. Iris' suggestions and advice aside, Harry did not really want to become great; he wanted to have friends and live better than he had in the Dursleys. And while Iris had been extremely supportive over the past years, she was only one other student and a girl at that. Harry strongly suspected she'd only ever have been his one friend, had he been sorted into Slytherin. The lions' House on the other hand seemed a lt more friendly. Besides, he'd read his history books well enough to know the majority of the children of former Death Eaters, convicted or not, had ended up in the House of Snakes. Spending the following seven years amid people that might or might not want him dead might have proven... unhealthy, to say the least.

In the end, he'd made his choice. He only hoped he'd be able to remain friends with his cousin after it.


	16. A perfect snake

**ReBein: Dumbledore agrees with you about the Sorting. That can be a good or bad thing. That said, if you look at all the qualities of the Houses and not just one, you'll notice that they represent a much broader range of personality types than a single trait. And it's not so much about who the students are, but about who they can and should become; the Houses are supposed to help them realize that potential. Blame Dumbledore and Riddle for messing three generations' worth of wizarding education.**

 **Arashi IV of Vi / geetac: thanks!**

 **a1993: Putting them together would have the plot more closely follow that of the books. Would it have been easier for Iris and the Golden Trio? Yes. but it would also have been boring because we already know the Trio survived those problems; with even more help they'd be certain to do better if they just followed the script Iris already knows.**

 **Riniko22: It was more about Iris having had to protect wizarding Britain at all costs, deciding to take control of the country in order to make it better, being cunning enough to talk her way through many difficult situations, having developed an impressive magical talent, being now a member of a pureblood Ancient House, and having the determination to keep going against insane odds. In short, going through the second war and the decades beyond, and her trip back in time, she developed practically all of the traits valued in Slytherin House. Plus, age provided her with common sense to balance her bravery.**

 **Serpentine13: You didn't see it when looking into my profile then?**

 **Seithr-Kairy: Canon proves that not even the Hufflepuffs are free of the monster of prejudice. It's one of the points Rowling tries to hammer home - repeatedly.**

 **Blitzstrahl: Curious. You don't want Iris to attempt to reform Slytherin House, as she's doing with the House of Black? If you're worried there won't be interaction between her and the Trio, don't be. Malfoy managed to stumble into them quite often and he wasn't even trying very hard.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Sorting Hat who was supposed to divide everyone into the four Houses belong to and was enchanted by only Godric Gryffindor? If yes, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and anyone she's sold the rights to. I'm not one of those - if I had that kind of money I'd live in my own house.**

 **...**

"This is my bed, Black!" Pansy's annoyingly demanding voice cut through Iris' post-sorting haze. The Black scion had hardly paid any attention to her housemates over the past couple of hours, ignoring their discussions during the feast or even the fifth year female Slytherin Prefect as she'd introduced them to the 'greatness' of their new House. Ever since a meddlingly sentient, thousand-year-old hat had separated her from her counterpart with a single word, she'd been frenetically reworking plans, reconsidering decisions, and backtracking on her mental and magical preparations.

"Sure it is." She had little patience or inclination to play Pansy's games right then, so she levitated her trunk out of where the Hogwarts elves had placed it, floated to the bed closest to the large window looking out into the darkness of the Black Lake's depths, kicked Pansy's trunk out of place and started preparing for the night. Unlike her, Pansy would only learn the Levitation Charm near the end of October, so she had to drag her own trunk to her new bed through main force - or whatever passed for it in eleven year old girls.

"I can't decide if that was a cowardly capitulation, or a casual snubbing." A short, black-haired, dark-skinned girl said from her left. "Then again, neither can any of the others. Excellent." Black, almond-shaped eyes measured Iris coldly while a small smirk showed perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. The girl's Mediterranean features reminded her of Blaize Zabini. She hoped she had not just stumbled upon another paradox-induced shift. Back in her own timeline, Serena Zabini had killed more husbands and claimed their properties and House votes than most of Voldemort's supporters had had victims during the war - and they'd never managed to make an accusation against her stick. The apple had not fallen far from the tree, and the only reason her son Blaize had not become a just as great problem was his attempting to snare Susan. The future Head of the DMLE had kept him under too short a leash to cause trouble after that. "I'm Lillian Moon, by the way." The other girl said, offering her hand. Iris eyed it and its owner critically and only shook it once.

"Iris Black." She said, returning to making her bed. "And I'd go for casual snubbing. Soon enough, Pansy will discover her new bed is much more uncomfortable than the rest, while I will find out this one is quite warm, despite being next to this large and cold window." She returned Lillian Moon's smirk. "Both hardening and warming charms courtesy of parties unknown, of course." They both laughed at that, the other girl's laughter both musical and well-practiced, its warmth not quite reaching those black eyes. Maybe she'd warn Moon's future victims away when the time came.

"I must admit to being curious." Her new non-friend said as Iris secured her trunk and sheets with several very powerful and very subtle protections. If the Ravenclaws were willing to steal and destroy another's property in their bullying of Luna, she didn't want to see what the Slytherins would come up with. "Greengrass and Davis have their own little clique, Bulstrode chooses to be a follower because she finds politics boring, and I prefer to watch before I act. But why would a Black ignore Parkinson's declaration of superiority like that?"

"I could declare myself the Boy-Who-Lived, but that wouldn't make it true." Not without some Weasley-invented, gender-related shenanigans anyway. "Pansy can say whatever she wants. I'm not going to bother unless she tries to act upon it." Iris considered the strange arrangement of the Slytherin dormitories carefully. Each year and gender had their own room, but each bed was in its own sort-of alcove, offering a bit more privacy than just a curtain. No doors though; it was as if the designer could not decide between a single dormitory and separate bedrooms. Hardly a surprise though; the castle was not built with common sense in mind. That said, it did make laying separate protective enchantments easier. The insane idea to simply hide her room behind the Fidelius Charm suddenly went through her mind, and Iris snorted. As if that wouldn't draw too much attention. Besides, she'd need to recast it every so often; the charm would break with the Secret Keeper living under it.

"I see that the new generation of Blacks have lost none of their cunning." Lillian Moon finally said. "If you ever decide we have common interests, come and find me." She offered, leaving Iris to her nighttime preparations. Before she could finish and go to bed though, the Prefect that had escorted them to Slytherin barged into her new bedroom.

"Black, here you are." The older girl said with exasperation at having to search for her. For the life of her, Iris could not remember her name. Had they even learned it when she'd been in her post-sorting haze earlier? Of course, a Prefect coming to find a first-year after curfew in the very first night would hardly be bringing good news. "Our Head of House wants to see you." Naturally, a meeting with Snape. Because without it her first day would not be perfectly ruined.

"When?" She asked, checking to see that her wand was in its holster.

"Yesterday." Said the older girl dryly. "That was the exact word he used."

Iris scrambled to get dressed once more.

 **...**

"Sit down Miss Black." Snape barked and Iris obeyed instantly and silently. The Potions Master was angry and she could guess why; better not to antagonize him.

"You have already heard the rules of your new House from Miss Farley so if you aren't as much of an idiot as the average first year, you should fit in given your family." He gave her a rather impressive sneer. "But let me make a few other points abundantly clear." Snape glared at her fiercely then, his fingers on his wand white from the tightness of his grip.

"Bullying will not be tolerated. If you have grievances with anyone in the House you're free to settle them one on one and they will remain settled. Initiate any... unpleasantness that is either unfair or underhanded and you'll wish you were expelled." Snape's glare hardened, if that were possible. "Life is not fair and neither am I so don't bother complaining about not being allowed to flaunt your influence, money, or little clique of sycophants if you manage to get one, at the expense of another student."

"Pointless mayhem will also not be tolerated. If I catch you or any of your friends breaking school rules, I will ask you the reason. If your reason does not satisfy me, you will serve detention and lose all privileges for the remainder of that school year." He sneered again, as if the possibility of finding any such reason satisfactory were so near zero as made no difference.

"If you endanger another student..." he breathed heavily now, and Iris didn't know what would happen if he lost control. Luckily, he didn't. "Suffice it to say the punishment will be... severe."

"Last but not least, you will answer as many of these questions as you can." He handed her over several pages of what looked like exam papers. "You have one hour."

Iris looked over the sheets, finding them full of questions about Potions and Defense. She had no idea why Snape of all people would give her such a test on her first day - or rather night. How did it relate to Sirius trying to feed him to Remus when they were teenagers? Maybe it was simply a test - for all she knew, all prominent Slytherins got it. She resolved to answer to the best of her ability and started filling in the answers at a frenetic pace - she was certainly practiced enough writing after-action reports for the Auror office for over twenty years.

Fifty-six minutes ago, Iris forced cramped fingers to let go of the self-inking pen she'd been provided and handed over the finished test. She'd forgotten how her younger body was not quite used to writing at such speeds - or for so long - and she hoped she wouldn't regret it in the morning. At least it... wait! Was that a very deft, very light-fingered presence in her mind?

Of course! After trying to intimidate, distract, and tire her a bit with the test, it would be easier for Snape to slip in undetected. Had her Occlumency not been working overtime already to retain the memories of her aborted future, Iris would have sensed and stopped the intrusion by imitating a naturally strong but not well-trained shield. Unfortunately, that was no longer an option. Fortunately, Snape was only a world-class occlumens; his Legilimency was far less impressive. Iris redirected his probes towards the aftermath of one of her few duels with Cassiopeia 'evil grandma' Black, and the light use of the _Cruciatus_ she used as motivation. Except that she also surreptitiously linked the pain of every other memory of _Cruciatus_ exposure she had, resulting in the false memory of pain that could have driven the average person insane.

Snape wasn't the average person, but neither did he escape unscathed. He broke the mental connection outright, leaped back and nearly toppled over his own seat. Iris looked at him with a politely questioning expression, as if she had no idea what had happened - because she shouldn't have. No eleven-year-old would have ever detected Snape's intrusion, let alone fought it off in a rather unorthodox manner. Whatever he found in her mind would remain his secret alone - or so he would now believe.

"Sir? Is anything wrong?" She asked with false worry, leaving the now finished text on his desk before she approached him.

"Nothing is... wrong, Miss Black." He said in obvious dismissal. "Return to your common room at once. I'll send over your results later."

Iris did, hoping she'd made sure no further unauthorized trips into her mind would happen in the future.

 **...**

"Well?"

"You were wrong, Dumbledore." Severus answered the Headmaster's one-word query snidely. "The girl is almost certainly a budding troublemaker, but she's far from the blunt instrument Black was or the sadistic bully her eldest aunt liked to behave as." Not that Severus would be terribly surprised if she was. Cruciatus exposure from so young an age, probably repeatedly, would do far more to make someone bitter, willing to lash out at those around him, than any sort of inbreeding. His own less than happy childhood had certainly pushed him towards the Dark Arts as much as it had pushed Black towards attempted murder - not that it excused either of them.

"And what of her skills?" If Dumbledore wanted to find another pawn like he had in many other children over the years, he'd have to settle for disappointment once more.

"Fully three quarters of her answers in those questions that asked for example uses for potions or spells were about harmful or at least combat-related uses." He smirked at Dumbledore's raised eyebrows. "She even suggested things that surprised me. Either of us playing the 'kind grandfather' card and taking her under our wing is unlikely to work." Not that Severus would have ever tried such an act. "She has... adequate intelligence and discretion not to flaunt her advantages though." Not something he had expected from the spawn of a family that had produced the dog and the mad bitch.

"Surely a young girl would be at least a little approachable." His boss said with his perpetual optimism. Severus was happy to disabuse him of the notion.

"One of the uses of the basic Severing Charm is an alternative to Azkaban." He said with a smile. "Apparently, a wizard with two prosthetic arms is barely capable of more than household charms with a wand and thus not a major risk."

"That is highly disturbing." The Headmaster said with a frown. "One more reason we cannot allow the old families to raise the newer generation without love and compassion." More of Dumbledore's preconceptions projected to others, in Snape's opinion. Yes, love existed. Yes, it was very important. But it did not conquer all. His losing Lily to the bigheaded bastard was proof enough, even if it was partially his fault.

"Why are you so interested in the Blacks?" Severus asked, refraining from voicing his opinions or even holding them in his thoughts for long. He'd only get another talk about responsibility, forgiveness, and assorted tripe. "They are certainly a very ancient family, and rising in power and influence once more but they aren't on the level of the Malfoys yet." And the Headmaster had shown no interest in the latest Malfoy scion.

"Because someone is interfering with my arrangements for Mister Potter's upbringing and protection." Whatever those were, Severus thought but didn't say. Far be it from anyone else to make any important decisions when Albus Dumbledore himself would do. "I have had my suspicions that said third party is the Black family and the sudden appearance of another heir is suspect."

"You believe the girl is a fraud?" Severus asked with some surprise. He had seen nothing like it in the brief glimpse he had of her mind.

"No." The ancient, meddling wizard said with conviction. "Her underage magic has been registered and Rowena's pen had no problem writing her letter."

"Then?"

"Intuition, Severus. Intuition." Severus frowned even as Dumbledore smiled. "When in doubt, trust your instincts - and mine are telling me something is not right."

As a highly logical person, he was not convinced. But as a pessimist and a spy, Severus could not disagree. He already had to keep an eye on Quirrel and the Potter boy. What was one more?


	17. A perfect lesson

**...**

The first few days of lessons started exactly as Iris had expected, but would not continue as they had if she had anything to say about it. After a fairly standard Slytherin-Ravenclaw Charms class, she carefully disillusioned and concealed herself away from the eyes of students and portraits and sneaked into the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Charms period. The first lesson was about producing magical sparks, and incidentally learning how to channel magic through one's wand. Predictably, Professor Flitwick had reacted strongly to Harry's presence, much as he had watched her carefully during the previous period. That made approaching her first target harder; a former Dueling Champion and Charms Master would not fail to detect her should she draw any kind of attention to herself. Thus, she moved towards Neville first.

As expected her old friend was having problems with his wand and given his already low self-esteem, his falling behind the rest of the class would leave him only a mediocre wizard for nearly five years. Given time, wands became less important than knowledge and conviction, but they were essential in the beginniner stage. Thus Iris turned her focus on Neville's wand and started pouring her will into reducing it to dust. Wands were highly resistant to magic however - it took a blasting curse to snap one - and she was trying it wandlessly, so the probable result would be no more than the wooden focus becoming more and more worn and brittle; exactly the outcome Iris wanted.

"Gaah!" Neville jumped back as his wand begun spitting out sparks fitfully and randomly, drawing a few snickers from the rest of the class and everyone's attention.

"Mister Longbottom, may I see your wand?" Professor Flitwick asked as Iris retreated towards Harry's and Ron's desk while everyone was distracted. After examining the wand for a few moments, a deepening frown appearing on his not-quite-human face, the Charms Master shook his head and handed it back.

"Mister Longbottom, this is not a new wand. It is decades old, worn, and possibly spell-damaged. Where did you get it?"

"It w-was my f-father's, Professor." The timid boy stammered as Iris started working on Ron's wand as well.

"I see." The diminutive Professor frowned some more. "Even if this was your own wand, Mister Longbottom, I'd advise you to replace it as it is only borderline functional. But since it never chose you, you'll almost certainly be unable to cast magic with it."

"But... my Gran..." Neville protested half-heartedly, but Professor Flitwick interrupted him.

"Let me reiterate, Mister Longbottom." The part-goblin said in a much more cheerful tone. "You are not allowed to use that wand for spellcasting in this class or any other - I'll inform your Head of House as to why. Regenerating your eyes after this dangerously worn wand blows up in your face is not an experience I would reccommend - and you can tell Augusta I said so."

Iris could have kissed the diminutive Charms Master at that moment if it wouldn't have broken her near-invisibility and prevented her from fixing Ron's wand problems as well. Five minutes later, Professor Flitwick also noticed Ron producing clouds of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs instead of sparks, and repeated his suggestions. Molly Weasley might have left Ron struggle for a year with an almost broken wand, but that had been Ron's fault for breaking it while breaking the Statute of Secrecy. She was highly unlikely to do the same now, where the cause apparently was the Weasleys' inability or unwillingness to get their kids new wands.

Work done, she sneaked out of the classroom and towards the library. She'd already done something valuable in the first quarter-hour of History. Returning to Binns' class was not on her schedule however; she needed to prepare for the next intervention.

 **...**

"Hey there, Bookworm." She greeted Hermione when she'd finally found her Tuesday evening. "Feeling lonely yet?"

"Go away!" mumbled the bushy-haired girl from behind a towering stack of books. Iris ignored the half-hearted dismissal and took a seat.

"Why? You have so many friends you can't handle one more?" She said dryly as she drew her wand.

 _"Accio Transfiguration textbooks, years one to three, 1943."_

One heavy tome and two companion folios flew in from the stacks around them and landed neatly before Iris. Ignoring Hermione's gobsmacked expression, she took the current textbook out of her schoolbag, opened both it and the tome, and started comparing them, having her self-inking dictaquill take notes as she whispered her observations. Five minutes later, Hermione's curiosity won over her isolationism and a torrent of questions practically burst out of the bush-haired girl.

"How... how did you do that?!" she practically screamed, and if Iris hadn't cast a silent _Muffliato_ around them Madam Pince would be kicking them out right then.

"Summoning Charm." She explained. "One of the oldest and most frequently used spells in the world. Master it, and you won't need endless hours of looking through the library to find the book you need. Assuming it exists nearby, and you provide an accurate enough description, the magic will get it for you. Of course, that's far from its only use." Hermione's bushy eyebrows had already met low in her forehead as she was thinking furiously on just how many things could be made easier with one spell.

"But then why isn't it in the curriculum?" she protested indignantly, and Iris smirked. An excellent question deserved an honest answer.

"Oh it is - in fourth year. You see, the Ministry has a vested interest in controlling what we learn and when. Hogwarts is an expensive school for primarily rich pureblood families." Her grin bekame positively shark-like. "And we can't have those rich kids failing their education now, can we? The curriculum is designed for a ten percent failure rate in our exams at most. It barely challenges the average wizard."

"But... but they can't do that!" Hermione's indignation skyrocketed. "Don't they understand how important education is? The government is supposed to..."

"Benefit from the bribes of the rich?" Iris interrupted. "Naturally. As for education, rich kids can always hire tutors and influential people with talent get apprenticed to masters or enter special programs."

"That's unfair!" The very smart girl's eyebrows narrowed. "Wait a minute, you are one of those rich pureblood kids. Why should I trust you?"

"Excellent, you're learning." Iris gave her a genuine smile. "You shouldn't; you should verify what I am telling you. Just like you should for everything authority figures are telling you. I didn't get elected on bribes and propaganda after all."

"I will." Hermione huffed then turned back to her own stack of textbooks. "Now go away, you're annoying me."

"Am I?" Iris challenged with a raised eyebrow. "Do tell."

"You come here and insult me, tease me about being lonely and then rub your superior social position in my face." The bushy-haired girl growled, her hand clenched around her vine wood wand.

"If you're lonely it is your fault. You've already seen that intelligence without connections does not make for a pleasant life and yet you do nothing to change it." Beating that point into her future friend did not come easily to Iris, but it had to be done. Even after the troll incident, she'd had practically no strong friendships except with Iris or Ron for many years, and had never had a pleasant personal life.

"Why should I approach others when they're so..."

"Dumb?" Iris finished bluntly. Hermione had frequently been condescending even after she'd mellowed. Using it against her now would help her see her failings earlier and make her a better person as well as a better witch. "If you're so sure of your intellectual superiority, why don't you challenge Ronald Weasley in a game of wits? I suggest Chess."

"Ron?" The Gryffindor girl laughed now. "He's the laziest boy in Gryffindor - pull the other one."

"He's a pureblood." Iris said, playing the prejudice card for both herself and her future friend. "He has to be good at something."

"Oh really?" Arms crossed, the smartest witch of her age smirked nastily. "If I win, you will leave me alone for the rest of the term."

"Deal." Iris nodded and rose. "But if he wins, we will meet at least three hours a week for a study session. You need a proper introduction to the wizarding world." She pushed the older textbooks from 1943 towards the other girl. "Until then, you can check how much Hogwarts' curriculum has been degraded over the past fifty years."

"Uhuh..." she leafed through the heavy tome critically. "Why a textbook from 1943 specifically?"

"Because it was one of the last years Albus Dumbledore assigned reading material and taught the subject." Iris said before leaving, which sent Hermione into a frantic search through the older textbook's pages.

 **...**

Astronomy had never been one of Iris' strongest subjects in the future and Professor Sinistra's lessons had always had a decent level so she decided on some in-depth revision to learn it properly this time. Herbology on the other hand she'd taken into NEWT level in the previous timeline so she could show off in theory-based questions while rehashing the practical side easily enough. She was careful not to push too far into being seen as a prodigy though; she didn't want to steal Neville's rightful place.

Transfiguration was painfully boring as far as theory was concerned. Like Dumbledore and McGonagal herself, Iris no longer needed complicated wand motions or incantations, being perfectly capable of performing well into mastery level with a flick of her wand. When it came to transfiguring a match into a needle, she faked trying to change her match, while wandlessly trying to transfigure the substance of her wooden desk into metal instead, without affecting its paint. It was something she'd once been capable of, but now had problems with so the hour did not go to waste. Halfway through the allotted time, she changed her needle and won ten points off Professor McGonagal but when the lesson was nearing its end, she focused her efforts on something else.

CRAK!

"Mister Malfoy, are you all right?" The Deputy Headmistress said sharply as Draco's chair collapsed beneath him. Snickering along with the Ravenclaws, Iris allowed her wood-to-clay transfiguration to lapse, returning the pieces to their original nature. Doing that wandlessly so it couldn't be traced to her and at a distance had not been easy, but challenging herself like that every day was the only way to reacquire her former abilities. If Draco Malfoy was humiliated a few times in the process...

"Good one." Lillian Moon whispered in her ear, dragging her out of a daydream that involved a large number of nameless pranks on the so-called Slytherin prince.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She whispered back, gathering up her things as the class came to an end.

"Of course." Moon readily agreed. "I wouldn't want it widely known if I had a second wand - especially not one charmed invisible." She smiled, and Iris groaned. The little imp had cutely annoying dimples to go with her slightly off but still fairly accurate suspicions. "Just make sure next time to smirk at Malfoy only after his chair collapses, huh?" Moon gave her a wink and run off towards who knew where.

 **...**

Potions with the Slytherins were not a lesson any Gryffindor other than Harry and maybe Hermione looked forward to. To Ron's confusion however, Harry had been reading his Potions book every chance he got over the past few weeks.

"Give it a rest, mate." The redhead said. "You must have read this thing back to back three or four times." More like seven, counting his summer study sessions before coming to Hogwarts. He wasn't going to tell Ron that, though. He was already teasing Hermione for being a bookworm and Harry didn't want to catch some verbal volleys too. One of these days he had to talk to Ron about his lack of tact - but not yet. Iris had warned him about Professor Snape every time the subject of potions came up in their summer meetings and Harry was determined not to be thought of as a 'dunderhead'. Unfortunately, he'd had no chance to actually practice his potions over the summer, unlike the children of pureblood families like Iris'. On the other hand, Iris had reminded him of the literally thousands of times he'd cooked for the Dursleys. At a basic level, potions were just like cooking. Only to achieve the higher-end brews or to invent new recipes did one need a deeper understanding of the discipline, so during their first couple of years he'd be all right if he just followed the recipe exactly. As long as he remembered which potions accidents could blow people up and managed to avoid them, that was.

"Leave him alone, Ron." Hermione said as she followed them down to the dungeons. She was not reading her textbook while walking but then again, she had a better memory and far more practiced academic skills than any of them. "He wants to do well in this class, and so do I. Need I remind you this is the only class we take jointly with the Slytherins, which is also taught by their Head of House?" The bushy-haired, confrontational know-it-all had changed a bit after losing several Chess games to Ron over the past couple of days. She was still a know-it-all, and had become even more confrontational about it, but now her efforts were focused less on trying to be little miss perfect and more on helping them beat the bloody Slytherins. She still wouldn't let Ron or Harry copy her work but she'd always remind them how Malfoy would laugh at them if they failed their assignments, and would then show them the reference books that would help them write the assignments themselves.

"Yeah, yeah, but you heard Fred and George; Snape's biased." Ron argued. "You're never going to get a praise out of him."

"That's why we're doing it!" The bushy-haired girl said with such fervor that she almost scared Harry. "We have to show the establishment that we aren't going to take their archaic, biased, bigoted, unjust ways lying down!" She marched ahead of them towards the Potions classroom as if she was a one-witch invading army rather than a Gryffindor firstie entering hostile territory. The two boys stared at each other for a moment, then run after her.

Hopefully, they could prevent her from causing an incident that would land the entire first year Gryffindor group in detention for the rest of the year.

 **...**

Severus Snape walked into the first year Slytherin-Gryffindor Potions class with his customary silent stalking tread and billowing robes, impressing into their prank-oriented, undeveloped little minds that he was not to be trifled with. Every year there was at least one student that through ineptitude or ill intent managed to cause a major accident that threatened worse than momentary inconvenience and depleted the Hospital Wing's valuable healing potion supply. Even worse, this year's crop of little deviants contained Potter, Black, and Longbottom. A trio designed better to infuriate him, test his patience and control, he could not imagine. Not only had Black and Potter been miscreants of criminal magnitude in his time, but they also had little skill with potions despite Fleamont Potter - the airhead's own father - being an accomplished Potioneer. To that add the current generation of Potter and Longbottom being the cause of Lily's death, and Longbottom's parents having had little true skill in the art of brewing, and the future looked less than promising.

With some effort, Severus Snape controlled himself. He was perhaps Britain's most accomplished Occlumens, and certainly the nation's most capable spy. He would not allow a bunch of children to disturb him with their mere existence. Perhaps... perhaps they would not be as inept or intentionally destructive as he feared. He would give them this one chance - perhaps even put Potter to the test.

"Potter!" Severus said after he'd finished his little introductory speech. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" To his surprise he saw two more hands in the air, one of them from the Black girl. To his even greater surprise, Potter actually answered!

"Nothing, sir." The boy said after giving it a bit of thought. "They are the first steps in brewing the Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion, but they are far from the complete recipe."

"And for a good reason." Severus said to the class at large. "A potion that can potentially kill even if brewed correctly has no business being available to first years, even in theory." He sneered threateningly, especially at the Slytherins. Of course, they thought he was trying to intimidate the Gryffindors so it didn't quite work. "Let's see how much you've really prepared, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a Bezoar?"

"In your private ingredients cabinet, sir, or maybe the infirmary." Said the boy cheekily but seeing his thunderous expression, he hastily elaborated. "It is a stone-like object that can be found in the stomachs of goats and can cure most poisons, sir. As I don't know whether goats are kept in the castle and where they would be, I took the second and third best options." In reality those options were better, Severus thought. Bezoars had to be carefully extracted by a wizard to retain their potency, and as the boy said goats were rather rare here in Hogwarts as well. If someone were poisoned, Severus' ingredients cabinet or the infirmary could provide a Bezoar and save a life quickly enough to make a difference. It was precisely for that reason that they stocked on the things.

"That was not entirely pathetic, Potter. Care to try for three out of three?" Not bothering to wait for the boy's answer, he asked another question. "What is the difference between Monkswood and Wolfsbane?"

"They are the same plant, sir." The boy said, somewhat uncertainly. Snape snorted.

"Anyone else know more on this subject?" he asked, having seen Granger's and Black's impatient hands. Surprisingly enough though, Longbottom raised his hand as well this time. "Yes, Longbottom?"

"They are the same plant, the only species with magical properties out of the Aconitum genus. Once quite widespread, they are only found in wild places or wizard-owned land. Its leaves are highly poisonous, its roots are used in some awakening potions, and its flowers are used in the Wolfsbane potion." The pudgy, usually timid boy answered confidently. Relieved that this class at least would not be infuriatingly incompetent, he decided to test more than their book knowledge. Maybe, just maybe, there was a future Potions Master hidden among them?

"If Bezoars can heal almost any poison, why do we use them up in making basic antidotes to common potions?" There, a question that could not be answered by simply reading ahead. Granger's hand lowered in dismay - predictably, from what he'd heard of her from other teachers. Potter seemed to be thinking furiously, unlike most others that seemed hopelessly lost. Draco and Pansy would soon find the answer - they'd covered it in his private tutoring at least in passing. Unfortunately, Black raised her hand before any of them. "Yes, Black?" he said sharply.

"Because a Bezoar can only cure one victim, sir, while a cauldron of basic antidote several dozen. The potion essentially dilutes the magic of the Bezoar so it can be divided into many doses. Since common poisons are, well, common, this is the most efficient use we can make of Bezoars when treating them." The girl said, answering perfectly. Draco, Pansy, and -curiously- the Granger girl glared at her for stealing the limelight by answering the most difficult question yet. Oh well, this minor rivalry could only spur them to greater efforts so Severus would not interfere. It was time for the practical anyway. Given how many accidents in this castle seemed to involve the Pimple Jinx for some reason, the Boil-Curing Potion would be a good start...

 **...**

After a surprisingly accident-free first class, Severus Snape was about to enjoy a cup of tea in preparation for another batch of potential dunderheads but was interrupted by a rather bold firstie not at all alarmed by his less than pleased expression.

"Yes, Black?" he asked sharply. "What do you want?"

"If you bitterly regret Lily Potter's death, sir, why did you betray her to your _former_ boss?" The girl said almost accusingly, leaving him gobsmacked. "What?" She challenged. "Did you really think a Black heiress would not have learned Victorian Floriography?"


	18. A perfect understanding

**r1ncewind1/Arashi IV of VI/sachaelle/Nemesis13: thanks!**

 **Blitzstrahl: Flitwick did not notice Iris - but only because he wasn't looking. He's too cheerful and trusting because he loves teaching young children and has been doing so for a long time. Good points on Snape and the Hermione/Luna situation. As for Ron, Harry needs someone cool and logical to keep an eye on him when Iris can't. That's why Iris started with Hermione.**

 **Vukk: Snape was both testing and apologising at once. Though why he'd expect Harry to know a system spies used to exchange messages that had fallen out of favor for hundreds of years, we'll never know.**

 **Disclaimer: The passages in italics are taken from the Sorcerer's Stone, chapter nine. I do not own Harry Potter and this story is only for fun; JK Rowling does.**

 **...**

"Detention!"

Predictable, if bland. Perfectly appropriate responce for the personna Snape had meticulously crafted over the years, however. Iris couldn't have that, though, and knew precisely how to avoid it.

"Yeah, not happening." She said airily, mimicking Sirius' manner as closely as possible. Getting a rise out of Snape like that was viscerally satisfying on a deeper, annoyingly childish level but also served a purpose. She actually respected the man for enduring the hell he'd been through as well as he had, not to mention fooling almost everyone on either side of the war. Unfortunately, his talents were wasted in Dumbledore's service in more ways than one.

"What is this, Black?" He asked with a small smile. "Are you actually giving me the opportunity to get you expelled?"

"Probably." She said unconcerned. "Fun fact, sir: there is such a thing as a Hall of Prophesy in the Ministry." Snape's face blanched in shock. That was probably the last thing he expected to come up in a discussion with an upstart firstie.

"What did you say?" he whispered with such intensity that many an adult witch or wizard would have run for the hills at hearing it.

"Another fun fact for you, sir: that's the same Ministry the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has been steadily regaining power in for the last few years." Iris smirked winningly and waited for his responce. She was not disappointed.

Suddenly Snape staggered back, almost falling off his chair. A swarm of images flew through Iris's mind like a muggle movie on fast-forward; a much younger Snape sneaking through a dark and dismal pub, spying on his Master's greatest opponent. The words of a True Prophesy heard through a closed door, though not in their entirety before an ancient but surprisingly fit barman that looked much like Dumbledore captures him on the act and throws him out. Snape running to his Master to share the information, finally proving his worth as a Death Eater with more than crafted spells and brewed potions. Months later, Snape stalking his childhood friend through the streets of London and realizing -to his horror- the Prophesy is about Lily's son. Snape going to Dumbledore and offering him everything if only he'd save Lily's life-

"ENOUGH!" The connection breaks when Snape finally manages to block the dual attack of his own rebounding Legilimency probe supported by Iris' own.

"I suppose it is, Professor." Iris nods in agreement. "Thank you for sharing those memories with the House of Black, confirming Lord Black's suspicions, and signing yourself up for Azkaban for using Legilimency on a minor." She now had as good a hold on Snape as Dumbledore did, which should hopefully allow her to break his loyalty to the Headmaster and have him help the House of Black in its more proactive stance against Voldemort's eventual return. Now all she had to do was-

 _"Obliviate!"_

Unlike Snape's Legilimency, his Memory Charm was neither wandless nor cast with a light touch. It smashed through Iris' wandless Shield Charm with all of Snape's power behind him... and spent its remaining energy going through two more layers of shielding enchanted into Iris' clothes in the Weasley Twins' style. Snape's follow-up Stunners ate through the remaining layers of prepared shielding with ease, reminding the Black Heiress just who was Voldemort's most capable Death Eater after her half-mad cousin. She now stood before one of the strongest wizards in the younger generation with no more defensive enchanted items as backup and with another stunner already falling from Snape's lips. Unfortunately for him, Iris had had just enough time to reach for the Elder Wand. Not bothering to draw, she willed a silent _Protego Maxima_ into existence and Snape had to dodge his own rebounding Stunner.

"Unfortunate." She commented, banishing Snape into a wall and holding him there before he could recover his balance. Then she hit him with the most powerful Confundus Charm she could produce with the Elder Wand. "I came to Hogwarts today expecting a better outcome from our little meeting." She turned her back to the still-struggling Snape, covertly drew a small potion bottle from her purse, and drank its contents. It tasted disgusting, as it always did; she didn't envy Sirius having to drink it every day. As her flesh bubbled and her hair receded, shortened, and lightened dramatically, her expensive robes and shoes shifted to fit her changing body as they'd been enchanted. In only moments, a rather regal - if underdressed - Arcturus Black stood in Snape's study.

"You see, Master Snape, from my Heiress' reports I had expected a talented young wizard disaffected with his lot in life to the point that his anger showed through his control, to his students' detriment. Given information from other sources, I'd decided to make said young wizard an offer - after showing some incentive of course." Iris looked at a gobsmacked Snape with the face of her Head of House and sighed in very real disappointment. She'd truly expected him to be more diplomatic - not to launch out some panicked attack. There were only two explanations for Snape's behavior, and Iris did not think his love for her mother would prevent him from seeking alternatives to Dumbledore's control. "Imagine my disappointment when said wizard's behavior was proven to be a mask to fool his former allies, and his allegiance was not free for me to acquire. He'd already bound it to another and sought to attack me when that fact was revealed."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Lord Black." Snape said darkly, recovering his composure. "Using your own Heiress to approach Harry Potter and have him retrieve the Prophesy for you... it would have left clues in the Ministry. If even one of the Dark Lord's followers discovers them..."

"They're welcome to try." She said in her most arrogant impersonation of Arcturus Black. "As is your new master, I suppose. The House of Black left no clues in either the Ministry or the children." She shrugged, showing false indifference. Damn Dumbledore and his meddling! Why did he have to bind Snape so closely to him? With her recruitment attempt a failure, there weren't many ways to cover her tracks. Having Snape and, most importantly, Dumbledore focus on bringing an entirely different culprit to justice - or at least their control - she could maintain her cover in Hogwarts while the two of them searched futilely for modified memories and proof in the Ministry archives.

"You obliviated Potter? And you take me to task for mere Legilimency." Snape sneered. "What's next, killing me and hiding the body?"

"Tempting, but no." Casting the strongest Disillusionment Charm she could perform, she vanished almost entirely from sight. "No, it would be better if we'd never had this conversation." Unseen to Snape now, she raised the Elder Wand and cast a decent but not truly powerful Memory Charm.

With some luck that would make the entire encounter that more believable when Snape, being a Master Occlumens, recovered the memory and reported everything to Dumbledore. The only thing left to do was to cast Memory Charms on Harry and herself. Erasing a few hours of memories from the two of them would sell the whole subterfuge so much better when Dumbledore inevitably checked, especially if those hours were just blanks for hours she and Harry had been actually asleep. Let the Head meddler try to recover memories that never existed in the first place.

He deserved it for unintentionally messing up so many people and things in pursuing victory for the Light.

 **...**

Harry was rather excited about the upcoming flying lessons, even if they had to share the lesson with the Slytherins. Yes, Malfoy and his cronies would be there - but so would Iris. Totally against Ron's expectations, the Black Heiress was not a "bigoted Death Eater spawn". In fact, the Granger girl seemed to grudgingly respect her and even spend the occasional afternoon in the Library with her - probably because Iris was as smart as the self-righteous muggleborn, and just as bold in giving her opinion. Ron still insisted that the two prissy girls deserved each other, however.

Harry was fairly confident everything would be OK, despite Hermione's nervousness about the idea of flying on something as unsafe as a broomstick. Climbing was just as dangerous and he'd had to learn at a far younger age, courtesy of the Dursleys. Ron too often bragged about his early flying attempts, as did Malfoy. As for Iris, her family owned the biggest broom company in Britain. She'd probably been born on a broom, or something.

His predictions were proven true when Madam Hooch gave them some brooms to try. Harry's and Iris' brooms responded instantly to their commands, way ahead of even Malfoy's. Even more than that, holding a broom in his hands felt right despite the school's brooms being obviously ancient and not very well maintained even to Harry's inexperienced eyes. And when Madam Hooch admonished Malfoy for holding his broom wrong after the pureblood boy's bragging about his flying experience... Harry's day became perfect.

Unfortunately, it was not to last. Neville, the timid boy with the perpetually vanishing frog, lost control of his broom before their first test flight even started. He fell from a height of thirty feet and onto the ground, making several girls and one boy in their group scream. Surprisingly, he protested when Madam Hooch escorted him to the Hospital with a broken wrist, insisiting he was fine. Strange...

 _"Did you see his face, the great lump?"_ Malfoy said and most of Slytherin laughed. Not all though.

"Somehow Draco, I failed to notice anything more than mild surprise in Scion Longbottom's face." Iris said calmly. "It is only to be expected, I suppose. This is hardly the first time he survived a fall unscathed."

"What do you mean, Black?" The blond boy said darkly.

"One of his uncles once dropped him off a balcony, testing him for magic." The Black heiress said with a shrug, getting indignant shouts from more than one Gryffindor - Hermione first among them. "Longbottom bounced harmlessly, proving himself a wizard."

"Yeah, right." Malfoy said incredulously. "How'd you even know?"

"Forgotten our family already, did we cousin?" Iris smirked. "Great Aunt Callidora married Harfang Longbottom some sixty years ago. After six decades she's had a lot of gossip to share each time I met her in a family gathering."

"Oh well. If Longbottom is such a great wizard he won't have a problem retireving this, will he?" Malfoy said, picking up a glass sphere Harry recognized as Neville's Rememberall. He'd made a mistake though; bullying really pissed Harry off. He'd suffered enough of it from Dudley and was not about to let Malfoy do anything similar to Neville.

 _"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Malfoy smiled nastily._

 _"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?"_

 _"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!" Harry grabbed his broom._

 _"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble."_

"Nonsense." Iris said. "People have to stand up to their beliefs." She smirked at both Harry and Malfoy. "Fifty galleons on whoever flies best."

Not caring about the money but thankful for her support, Harry flew after the other boy, _blood pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught — this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron. He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned._

 _"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"_

 _"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried._

 _Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping._

 _"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called. The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy._

 _"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground._

 _Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down — next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball — wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching — he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist._

Unfortunately, that was precisely when Professor McGonagal showed up.

 **...**

"Get off my Quidditch pitch, Black." Marcus Flint growled as the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts were about to start. A bunch of several huge, thuggish-looking blokes were already flying around and playing with the Beaters' bats - mostly by taking turns hitting each other.

"Oh Marcus, you wound me!" She brought one hand over her heart, then pretended to faint. "Seriously though, aren't the tryouts about to begin? I've come to take my rightful place in the Slytherin team."

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence, I don't even know where to start." Flint rolled his trollishly large eyes in exasperation, then stared at her and snorted. "You're a firstie, Black. What are you going to do? Try out for the team on one of the pieces of firewood that pass for the school's brooms?"

"Is that your biggest concern? And here I thought you were hopelessly prejudiced against girls." And with good reason; most girls would never consider associating with Flint in the first place.

"Cute." Flint smirked, showing abnormally large teeth. "Any specific position you want to try for? There are a lot of different insults and anecdotes depending on a player's position you know - we wouldn't want any of our comments to be... inappropriate." It was Iris' turn to roll her eyes at Flint's crude attempt at intimidation.

"Tell you what, Flint. You let me have a go at the Snitch against Higgs and the Black company will donate a single Firebolt to Slytherin House." What had once worked for Malfoy would probably work for her, too, except she was not buying her way into the team. She was simply buying off Flint's prejudice. "You don't even have to put me on the team outright - I'll still have to beat the best Seeker you're found so far."

"And if I don't?" One thick, Hermione-like eyebrow that really didn't fit in Flint's face rose in question.

"Somehow, an anonymous fan will find it in his heart to upgrade all of the team's broomsticks - not to Firebolts perhaps, but still to something much better. The Gryffindor team's, that is." There was no way the standard bigotry in the Slytherin Quidditch team was going to steal from Iris the one activity in the world she did out of pure enjoyment and not as a means to an end for some nefarious plot. The rampant stupidity might - if she didn't beat some sense into Flint and his cronies first.

"You're on, Black." Flint said, shrugging nonchalantly. "But it's your funeral. Don't run back to daddy if you're too much of a little girl to fly straight."

"Oh don't worry. I won't."

The two hours that followed were one of the most brutal Hogwarts practices Iris had ever been part of - at least for her. Terance Higgs was pretty good - better than Malfoy, if only marginally. That wasn't the problem. Her problems were Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, and their continuous attempts to knock her out of the sky by any means necessary. Flint, with his insistence that a short practice was unrealistic no matter how many times Iris caught the practice Snitch, just gave them more time to accomplish their goals.

After catching the Snitch for the fifteenth time and still not being acknowledged by Flint despite Higgs having long since admitted her superior skills, Iris' patience came to an end. Willing an Unbreakable Charm onto her dismal school broom, she flew dangerously close to Bole. With glee, the much older boy clubbed the next Bludger straight at her. What Iris did next was a maneuver that only the most capable players at the international level ever tried. Professional brooms were made tough enough to take all Bludger hits, thus players could attempt to use their own broom to deflect Bludgers. With lightning-fast reflexes and perfect precision honed in literally thousands of hours of practice over the past few years, Iris turned on a dime and whacked the Bludger with her broom in the process... sending it straight back at Bole. A direct hit by the foot-wide iron sphere threw the very surprised Slytherin beater right off his broom.

Unfortunately for Derrick, Iris was not done. Catching the other Beater off-guard both due to her insane maneuver and abrupt direction change, she rammed him in a frontal collision before he could react. Iris was prepared, in control of the situation, and received the hit on her broom handle to which she was holding on with both hands and feet. Derrick took all the force of the impact on himself, in an area as large as Iris' fist. When Iris disentangled herself from her opponent, the unlucky Beater was joining his teammate to the ground already unconscious and with several broken ribs. The Black heiress accelerated towards Higgs, the other Seeker swerving frantically to get off her course, and caught the Snitch one more time.

"Bletchley, Montague, Warrington, get those two to Madam Pomfrey." Flint ordered when Iris landed about a minute later. "Black? Great flying - you're in."

The bloody idiot was actually smiling!


	19. A perfect rivalry

**I am officially becoming another decade older today. Got to start working on horcruxes or a philosopher's stone if I want to get this story finished eventually.**

 **Arashi IV of VI / Guest 1 / thekingofsweden1 / moonlightkiss1515 / Navn Ukjent: thanks!**

 **frakieau: don't count your cups yet.**

 **Guest 2: Harry Potter scores really high on most Sue tests to begin with. Iris is the same person after three more decades of magical experience. That said, unlike Sues she's been failing more than she's been succeeding in her goals so far.**

 **Guest 3: Of course Snape made his own choices too. Iris is being a little bit unreasonable because a) she just failed to recruit him and b) she's an adult mind trapped in a little girl's body. That will have anyone being overstressed.**

 **Guest 4: This chapter answers those questions.**

 **carick of hunter moon: A few chapters ago it was explained how the Blacks started introducing Firebolts to the market thanks to Iris having kept her old broom as a memento. Of course, that quarter-century-old Firebolt is not Iris' current broom.**

 **SpikeySugarBomb: Very good points! She was only blackmailing Snape to get him out of under Dumbledore's influence, not to force him to do things for her. Of course, due to inexperience (and other factors), she totally botched the attempt and had to pull a serious deception merely to cover her tracks.**

 **Riniko22: Strangely enough we never saw Flint do something really bad in canon, such as actively attack or even insult Mudbloods, cause major trouble, join the Death Eaters, and the like. He does play dirty in Quidditch and doesn't like girls in the sport, but that's all.**

 **a1993: Iris erased a few hours corresponding to periods of sleep. Those didn't have memories to begin with, except for some dream images. Anyone looking is going to see the memory charm and spend all his efforts to see what was erased to no effect.**

 **Blitzstrahl: A cool and logical Hermione will help keep Harry safe - that's why Iris is focusing on her. A more responsible Ron will simply cause fewer problems.**

 **Disclaimer: Were any books or other introductory material about the society and traditions of Wizarding Britain ever provided to Muggleborns? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me and this story is strictly nonprofit. All kudos for this great world go to JK Rowling.**

 **...**

Hermione had never had friends before. Most kids her age not only had very different interests but always tended to shun or even turn against her when she showed just how much she loved books and learning, how much she'd already learned. Being the favorite of most teachers (except for those PE nuts; they tended to hate her) did not win her any points in the... limited minds of other children either. They saw it as fraternizing with the enemy, however ridiculous it might sound.

 _What are the five most frequently used spells in wizarding Britain?_

 _Why does the early Hogwarts curriculum emphasize incantations when nonverbal magic exists?_

 _When did the percentage of successfully employed muggleborns fall under 20% in Britain and why?_

 _Which spells in the 1st year curriculum can easily kill, and which can kill only under specific circumstances?_

 _What are the real advantages and disadvantages purebloods have compared to muggleborns?_

Going through the list of questions, Hermione was not certain having someone interested in her academic success was good either. This test was about to become the second time she'd lost a bet with the Black girl, and having to spend more time with the annoyingly competent, aggressively outspoken heiress was not something she was looking forward to. Why didn't any of her books even mention the issues these questions brought up? They'd be practicing the Severing Charm in Herbology come November and none of them had been warned they could easily maim themselves with...

"OW!" Hermione complained, rubbing her forearm where the thin bluish spark stung it and staring daggers at her study partner. "What was that for?"

"It's half past ten, Granger." Iris said, not looking up from a tome that elaborated on the construction of broomsticks. "You'd been staring at that page for so long I was beginning to think you'd gone into shock, or something."

"And that gives you permission to throw Stinging Hexes at me?" Hermione asked indignantly, having to fight a sudden urge to lash out at her Slytherin companion.

"That was only a mild jolt, not a Stinging Hex." Iris flicked her wand at a piece of parchment, finishing another line of complicated calculations. What was the Slytherin princess trying to do? It looked interesting. "As for permission, one can't learn how to swim without water. I'm just getting you wet."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Hermione growled, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Are all Slytherins so mean?"

"Possibly." The other girl said nonchalantly. "You have already seen books don't contain every important fact. Magic is about intent, wanting something to happen. That can't be put into books either." Another line of complex figures go into Iris' parchment, the girl frowning at the result for a moment then returning her attention to Hermione. "Think about it, Granger. What do you really want to do right now?"

"Punch you in the face, probably." Hermione grumbled, not really meaning it. What did she want? Not getting maimed the next time Seamus, or Neville, or Ronald produce an explosion when botching a spell - that had been on her mind ever since she'd really thought about what the charms in the Standard Book of Spells: Grade One could really do.

"Excellent." Iris said with a smile. "You could practice your Knockback Jinx then. Or if you're feeling a need to defend yourself from Stinging Hexes or something, there's always the basic Shield Charm."

"But..." Hermione was about to say that there was no such charm in the curriculum, but stopped herself. If such important facts about the social structure of Magical Britain as Iris' lessons had revealed could be conspicuously absent from all her textbooks, was it such a surprise that a good protective spell would also be absent when it was needed even against first-year magic? After all, the purebloods already knew it - no reason to share with the muggleborns, she thought scathingly.

"Alright, tell me about this basic Shield Charm." She conceded. She'd get as good at magic as the best pureblood student ever, even if she had to suffer through the Black girl's snide remarks. It was way better than being shunned by everyone her age, and a great deal of knowledge she wouldn't normally have access to was the perfect birthday present.

Not that Iris Black - or any other student - had any idea Hermione had just turned twelve.

 **...**

Until recently, Harry could have sworn Hermione and Iris were the bossiest people he'd ever known, the Gryffindor bookworm winning that title over the Slytherin princess by a narrow margin. As he flew around the Quidditch pitch on his new Nimbus 2000, he wasn't so certain of that any more.

"Faster, Potter, faster!" Oliver Wood gave directions in a voice so loud Harry suspected it had been magically amplified. "You got the best broom in the school. You have to learn how to use it to its full potential!" Then the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team returned to berating his Beaters. "And you! Stop going soft on him because he's your brother's first mate! He needs to learn how to dodge those bludgers!"

"What got Wood's knickers in a twist?" Katie Bell, the second youngest team member asked as she and the other Chasers flew in formation near Harry. None of them wanted to see their new Seeker hurt as Wood's harsh practices devolved into near-insanity.

"I'll tell you if you help convince Angelina to go to Hogsmeade with me." One of the Weasley Twins offered as he playfully deflected a bludger into the girl's flight path.

"How about you tell me and I don't convince her never to go with you in the future?" Katie counter-offered loudly enough for the other two Chasers and Harry to hear. Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones.

"Stop messing around!" Wood shouted from near the scoring rings and Alicia and Angelina rolled their eyes then flew his way in a rapid attack, Quaffle in hand.

"Harsh!" The other Weasley Twin said as he flanked Katie and Harry and beat the bludger towards them. They dodged, but the first Twin was already in position to deflect the Bludger again before they could recover. Harry had to do a frantic barrel roll to narrowly avoid it.

"The story goes like this." The Twin shadowing them menacingly said as his other half went after the bludger once more. "We found a message in one of our late night haunts, one only we are supposed to know about. It mentioned the Astronomy tower, the Slytherin Quidditch trials, and wished us good luck. Clever little buggers that we are..."

"Buggers I'll give y - OW!" Katie gasped as the returning bludger lightly clipped her shoulder.

"...we realized that with those telescopes we could really spy on the Slytherins." Fred or George said without missing a beat. "So we invited Wood too. Big mistake."

"I'll say!" Katie winked at Harry. "Now you owe Harry for all the insane things Wood is going to have him do." Seeker and Chaser, both new to the team, dodged a few more bludgers, completed a few more high-speed maneuvers, and did everything they could to calm Wood down for the next half-hour. Unfortunately, their Captain insisted on an "extended" practice of at least four hours to build up everyone's endurance - never mind that most games in Hogwarts lasted less than an hour.

"What did Oliver see that made him go crazy?" Harry asked in another rare lull in the action - one of the Twins had "accidentally" struck the Bludger towards the Black Lake, giving everyone a minute or two to catch their breath.

"Your girlfriend." Fred or George said with a grin.

"Harry has a girlfriend? Already?" Angelina asked, black eyebrows arching in surprise.

"No I don't!" Harry denied, blushing at the attention.

"Whatever you say, mate." The redhead with the bat said with a smirk. "Her status as your non-girlfriend in question or not, Iris Black is the new Slytherin Seeker."

Harry nearly fell off his broom. This was... not too great a stretch, come to think of it. The Blacks were into Quidditch big time, and not just as fans. It made sense that the owners of the biggest rising broom company in Britain would have the newest member of their family actively interested in playing. He wondered how much experience Iris had on a broom.

"How did she get on the team?" he asked, curious.

"She beat up everyone in her way." Fred or George said with more than a hint of admiration. "Best flying Wood's ever seen - that's why he is trying to beat you two into shape."

"Lovely." Said Katie with a roll of her eyes. "We have to suffer new heights of Wood's training fanaticism because the Black princess wanted to show off. At least her family forced Nimbus to reduce their prices to remain antagonistic - maybe my parents will buy me one next year."

"Iris is not that bad." Harry said, despite calling Iris "princess" several times a day himself. Was this why his cousin had pushed him into going after Malfoy in their first Flying lesson? Did she somehow know McGonagal would make him a Seeker and that they'd be meeting in the air as rivals? No, that was as likely as Wood mellowing out. If it was though, he owed Iris yet another debt for pushing him into flying for the Gryffindor team. He could honestly say he loved Quidditch more than just about any activity in Hogwarts. "What broom does she have? One of those Firebolts?"

"Naah." Fred or George said as his twin returned with the Bludger. "Her using one of the school's brooms is the only reason Oliver did not commit suicide. You're lucky you're, well, you and Dumbledore allowed you to get a Nimbus." He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he readied his bat once more. "But we can't have you getting overconfident because you got the fastest broom." He smirked and batted the bludger straight at Harry.

This was going to be a long practice session.

 **...**

Iris was satisfied with how Harry and Hermione were adapting to Hogwarts and their new challenges. In the previous timeline, Iris had fallen short of her potential during her school years because nobody had actively pushed her into excelling and all the dangerous situations had eaten up much of her time. She'd had to play catchup in several areas not only during her daily Auror training after Hogwarts but also during the war itself. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd wished she'd known of a spell or potion that would have made her life easier - the so called Golden Trio had practically starved during the Horcrux Hunt because they'd never thought to Summon fish out of a river to eat or multiplied their supplies magically, for Merlin's sake! And how many times could some decent Disillusionment and Silencing Charms have saved them from some enormous blunders? Hermione might have been a lot smarter but had fallen into complacency despite all the dangers they faced, because nobody else in their year ever got close to challenging her. That she ultimately got eight NEWTs while less intelligent and capable individuals got more was proof enough of that. She did not get familiar enough with magic to use it for her everyday needs during their Hogwarts years either and she did not delve into the traditions, history, and lore of the magical world till after Voldemort was defeated.

If she got to do anything in this new opportunity she'd been given, Iris wanted to help her best friend and her male counterpart to become better. If Dennis Creevey could attempt spells as advanced as the Stunning Spell and the Reductor Curse as a second year student in Dumbledore's Army, then Hermione could certainly handle some extracurricular lessons as a first year. As for Harry, Iris could have improved immensely if she had to struggle against a superior flyer and learn from them instead of trying to explore her own limits by trial and error. Her dueling sessions with Sirius, Bellatrix and -especially- Auntie Cassiopeia had already pushed her to regain her reflexes, speed, and accuracy at a younger age than she'd believed possible, if not her lost power and ease in spellcasting. Given all the dangerous situations coming up in Harry's future, there was no way she'd let this timeline's Golden Trio to slack off.

"What's this I hear about you and the Mudblood Granger, Black?" Unfortunately, Iris had not been sorted into Gryffindor - and this was going to play havoc with her many plans. Case in point, Draco Malfoy being found in the same common room as her.

"There's no such thing as Mudbloods, Draco." She said tiredly. After the study session with Hermione and then spending several hours practicing her magic in the Room of Requirement, she had little patience for his usual bigoted idiocy.

"Of course there is!" He said hotly. "And you're besmirching our House's honor hanging around with one."

"Tell you what, Draco." She said and drew her wand. "I'll transfigure your blood into mud. If you survive the process, feel free to accuse people of being mudbloods as often as you want."

"It's a figure of speech." Lillian Moon said while Draco eyed Iris' wand carefully. The boy had at least some idea of what she was capable of after the many pureblood gatherings they'd attended together before coming to Hogwarts, so he did not discount her threat as baseless boasting. That was good because the Mudblood Transfiguration actually existed and Iris knew how to do it. Some bigot had tried to cast it at Hermione when her friend became Minister of Magic - tried being the operative word. That Ministry function had seen every single member of Dumbledore's Army in one place for the first time after several years - and none of them had been the least amused.

"Correction; it's a nonsensical figure of speech that automatically lowers the intelligence of whoever uses it." Iris said dryly.

"Oh!" Lillian smirked at Malfoy. "That explains it then."

"So you do support Mudbloods!" Draco finally accused Iris, seeing as everyone in the Slytherin common room was paying attention now. "Wait, doesn't Lord Black hire Mudbloods in his companies? How low have the mighty fallen." Morgana's tits, she'd forgotten how annoying he could be before he grew up. Did she have to save him from Fiendfyre again to get him to shut up?

"Let's take two hypothetical wizards, Draco." She said, several more Slytherins sitting down to listen. A struggle between the Black and Malfoy families would be more entertaining to these people than a soap opera. Not that they knew what soap operas were. "The first wizard is very wealthy and connected, but with average magic. The second is poor and with few allies, but with very powerful magic. What would happen if they became enemies?"

"The wealthy and connected one would buy out the other guy." Draco said as if it was self evident. "Or he'd use his contacts to ruin the other guy's reputation, then throw them into Azkaban."

" _Imperio!_ Transfer all your wealth to me." Iris said with a smirk, mock-waving her wand. "Oh, you're finished? _Avada Kedavra!_ " A neon-green bolt of magic launched itself out of her wand and towards Malfoy. Several people screamed and scrambled away, while others simply gaped. Draco was in the latter category, standing there like an idiot while the bolt hit him in the face... and turned his hair the same glowing green as the Killing Curse.

"That's what would happen, Draco." She said in the dead silence that followed. "You'd be dead and Hermione Granger would have your stuff because, let's face it, you're never going to catch up to her in magic the way she studies." Everyone was still gaping or hiding behind armchairs and tables, except for Lillian who was eyeing Draco's new hair color appreciatively, and Greengrass and Davies who were seemingly too focused on their game of wizard's chess to bother with anything else.

"Oh for Morgana's sake, it was just a silent Color-Changing Charm cast while you were distracted by my shout of 'Avada Kedavra.'" Iris rolled her eyes and Lillian giggled. "A minor prank, nothing to get your knickers in a twist over!"

Draco Malfoy fainted dead away in either relief or shock.


	20. A perfect holiday

**BasicallyComplicated: Iris is older. Mature? Don't count on it. Her body is that of an eleven-year-old girl after all.**

 **SmolMoon: Not planning to drop them any time soon. 'The Brightest Witch' has about a million words' worth of plot to go through and while 'Potter vs Paradox' has not been as carefully planned in advance, it will still go through all seven years.**

 **Riniko22: In Voldemort's camp we only see the failing purebloods willing to actively support him. If Britain has 20.000 wizards and 10% are old families (pure or otherwise), that would still make for hundreds of families. Only about fifty would directly join the Death Eaters in the end.**

 **Curious anon: Iris would be presented as the granddaughter of Dorea Black. The Blacks themselves believe she's the daughter of Dorea Black instead. In her timeline, Dorea and Charlus Potter actually are Iris' legitimate grandparents, so any tests demanded by the Ministry will only confirm the identity the Blacks present her as.**

 **Elim Garak: Dumbledore was a great teacher. Then the ministry downgraded the curriculum. McGonagal did not fight this change because of personal tragedy - losing her second husband in '85 due to a really stupid accident is the reason she's relatively cold and unapproachable in canon. As for the questions, they are the five questions immediately preceding that paragraph. And yes, Iris set them to Hermione.**

 **Vukk: Since he can conjure hundreds of objects at once and could draw his wand faster than most, Dumbledore could just conjure some bear traps over the Wizengamot's collective heads. Snicker-snack, one hundred dead wizards. Of course, he doesn't condone killing so it wouldn't happen.**

 **sachaelle: The Weasleys are poor by choice - they refuse to use their power to get more money directly, or accept money from others. Probably why Bill and Charlie left Britain - and they became fairly rich in their jobs abroad.**

 **At malfoy's situation: he's never tried to apply himself. That doesn't mean he can - he comes from the Black line as much as the Malfoys, after all. Plus in canon, he ended up trying his hand at Alchemy after Voldie's fall.**

 **At everyone saying this is a great story: thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: Did the troll somehow stumble into the only students out of the Great Hall out of everywhere it could have gone in the largest castle in Britain? If yes, this story does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **...**

Ron Weasley had recently received his new wand and was still catching up to all the practical work he'd missed. Fortunately, the fourteen-inch-long, willow-and-unicorn-hair focus seemed to be responding far better than his, or rather his brother Charlie's, old wand had in the very brief time he'd had it. Unfortunately, many of the Professors believed the best way for him to make up for lost time was to pair him up with the best student in every subject. To his horror, that turned out to be Hermione Granger

"You're doing it wrong." The bushy brunette bookworm bossily declared as Ron's Levitation Charm failed. "Windmilling your hands like that has your wand pointing all over the place. No magic is going to land on the feather like that."

"Get off my case, Granger." Seriously, what was her problem? "I've only had a good wand for a few days whereas you've been practicing since before we came to Hogwarts - illegally, I might add." Take that you stuck-up, overbearing, teacher's pet. Sometimes Dad's stories about his Ministry job could prove surprisingly helpful.

"You should have been practicing nonstop instead of goofing off and playing Exploding Snap, then!" The girl growled and Ron had to resist the impulse to flee as that nightmarish hair of hers frizzed up as she spoke, like the legendary Medusa's. "And for your information, I received no warning thus the Ministry obviously approved of what I did - so there!"

"If you two keep this up any longer, you'll both get detention." Harry cautioned from the next desk over, flicking his own wand at the feather as it wobbled but refused to lift. Curious. Ron could have sworn he'd seen Harry levitate objects before. "Professor Flitwick is already giving you strange looks."

"Fine!" Granger hissed. "I'm not going to help you again." Furiously flicking her wand, she managed to levitate the Standard Book of Spells: Grade One instead of the feather they'd been given to practice on... and accidentally hurl it into Neville's face a few desks over. "Sorry!" She cried out to the other Gryffindor and went to retrieve her book while Ron laughed.

"Don't you think you're being hard on her, mate?" Harry asked, his own feather abandoned for the moment.

"Nobody asked her to interfere." Ron scowled and tried the Levitation Charm again. "At least not in such a bossy manner." He peered closely at his best mate's desk with a frown. "No luck either, huh? Frizzy Beaver reckons I'm not pointing my wand right, and I think you're even worse at it."

"I've been levitating things for ages." Harry said, shaking his head. "Just not with a wand. Pointing a stick just doesn't feel as natural as flicking your fingers, you know?"

"Really?" Ron asked, mouth agape as Harry pointed at the feather and it levitated a couple of inches. "Don't let Granger see you mate, we'll never hear the end of it. She'll be quoting wand use regulations and the school curriculum till Christmas."

"Maybe rightly so." Harry said, scowling at his immobile feather. "Took me about a year to learn each trick with no wand, and I only know five. Flitwick reckons we'll be doing a spell a month, and that's just for Charms." The Boy-Who-Lived twirled his wand forlornly. "It's knowing to use a stick or going home."

"Harry, mate, are you serious?" Ron couldn't believe the other boy was complaining about doing magic without a wand. Ron's Mum could have the dishes washing themselves, clothes drying and folding up, or the knives cutting and peeling in the same way, but that was after seven kids and a bazillion hours spent doing household charms. "It is a great -"

"You two still didn't manage it, huh?" Granger butted in without being invited. "Look, it's not so hard. Let me help..."

"We're fine." Ron said through gritted teeth. Merlin, girls sucked. He'd already been suffering Ginny's antics at the Burrow; he should have known to keep away from Frizzy Beaver too.

"Oh yeah?" She challenged, hands on hips. "Prove it!" Knowing no other way to get her off his and Harry's backs, Ron pointed his wand at the feather and cast as best as he could.

 _"Wingardium Leviosaa!"_

"It's 'Leviosa', not 'Leviosaa'." The girl said smugly. "We're still using incantations for now and subconsciously, your mind knows you're doing it wrong so it's not going to work. Here, allow me."

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Ron knew when he was beaten, and a perfectly levitating feather going wherever Granger was pointing her wand at was it. The girl winning points for Gryffindor for being the first to get it just added insult to his injured pride. He and Harry did not speak for the rest of the lesson, trying to emulate that success. Ultimately they succeeded, though with difficulty.

"You know, we could get her to show us a few things." Harry said as they were exiting the Charms classroom.

"No way, mate." Ron shook his head emphatically. "She's a bloody nightmare, she is."

"Really?" Harry smiled fondly in remembering something Ron was not privy to. "I've had harsher teachers."

"But no way you've had bossier!" Ron declared, quite certain of that fact. "I mean, what she's doing won't win any friends. Remember what happened with our late night... walk? Totally insufferable."

Someone pushed both him and Harry aside, and ran off down the corridor. It took Ron a moment to realize it was Granger.

"I think she heard you, Ron." Harry said with a worried expression as both of them saw the now crying girl turn around a corner and vanish.

 **...**

The man under the Disillusionment Charm swiftly stalked through the dungeons in total silence. The feast was about to start and he was running out of time; everything had to be just so for the plan to work. Neither portrait nor ghost could see him, for a single witness would ruin everything. The old goat was both clever and powerful but he had several major faults that could be exploited - one of them was not acting directly unless he was certain of the situation. A wise policy in any game played in the shadows where a single misstep could spell one's doom, but one that would allow the man nearly free rein as long as there was no confirmation of his actions.

Finding a likely specimen had not been an issue. The old goat had already asked for their "help" in defending the Stone and where one troll could be found, two could be just as easily. Guiding it into Hogwarts was not a problem either; magically resistant or not, trolls were susceptible to compulsions if one knew how to handle them - and Quirrel had always prided himself of his skills in that area. The next two steps of the plan were a bit harder.

Nobody would appreciate how he'd guided the troll through the areas of the dungeons that lacked portraits, how he'd directed it in a course that made its wanderings seem random, how he'd searched for the best distraction possible. At least they wouldn't until it was too late. Letting the hungry troll hunt after laying a subtle compulsion on it to ignore any smells from the Great Hall would make things interesting. Somebody could always be found wandering through the corridors or staying on their own for one reason or another no matter the hour. And what a great tragedy it would be if the troll happened upon the squib caretaker or one of the more useless faculty members, no?

Why, their death might distract the rest of the foolishly emotional faculty and the old goat just long enough for Quirrel to get the Stone.

 **...**

"Damn, damn, damn." Iris muttered as she practically flew through the corridors, looking for her target.

The Halloween Feast had started just as she remembered. The same decorations, the same timing, the same music, even the same dishes. Iris' tastes had changed considerably over the years, so she could now fully appreciate the meatier, more calorie-heavy dishes and some of the stronger drinks. If the Head Auror's job was energy intensive, it still had nothing on being the Girl-Who-Lived once again, endless hours of dueling, Quidditch, potions, memory replays, and plans for world domination tripling the already high energy and protein demands of a growing body, and loading her noggin with enough stress that the empty glass she'd brought from Grimmauld Place was a must. Of course said glass had once held the highest quality liquor the Blacks had had access to, and Iris could do a mean Refilling Charm ever since she'd gotten Slughorn drunk with it in her sixth year.

She'd confirmed Hermione's absence early, and had been practically wolfing down food at Weasley speeds in preparation for Quirrel's interruption. Tom's turbaned host had not disappointed, arriving just on time and giving an oscar-worthy performance that sent the Great Hall in an uproar of either alarm or applause. Dumbledore had imposed a semblance of order - also as expected - and sent everyone to their common rooms, obviously aware that the troll was nowhere near the dungeons. Just checking on the defensive enchantments every Headmaster was keyed into would have confirmed that, but of course he could not say that to the students. Iris heard more than one of her housemates worriedly complaining about being sent to the Slytherin common room when the troll had also been reported to be in the same level. Rolling her eyes, Iris had broken line-of-sight to the rest of the students by "accidentally" being pushed behind a suitably imposing suit of armor and had Disillusioned herself. Running to the bathroom Hermione would be in had taken all of a minute after that, and keeping an eye on things to ensure history repeated itself should have been piece of cake. Except the Gryffindor girl had been nowhere to be found.

 _"Point Me Granger!"_

Iris' wand turned to point not towards any bathroom or even the Gryffindor tower, but towards the Library. Relying on her rather athletic physique - for an eleven year old, her superior knowledge of Hogwarts' secret passages, and several concealment charms, she once more went all the way across the castle at a dead run without being detected. The Library was dark and Madam Pince was evident by her absence, obviously having decided a feast every student was supposed to attend would be a good time for a break. Strange as it might seem, even cranky old librarians had to eat or go to the bathroom.

"Hermione, are you here?" she asked, already knowing the answer but covering all bases. It wouldn't do for her young genius friend to suspect her sudden appearrance. Naturally, she got no reply, so she cast a silent Supersensory Charm. There was Hermione, hiding behind a towering stack of carefully arranged books for precisely that purpose. And there was something twelve feet tall and weighing over a ton, now turning into the corridor that led to the Library - not good.

"Hermione get up, we need to leave." She said as she approached her past-future and hopefully future-future friend, wondering if thinking about the timeline snarl would send her to the hospital wing since the troll could not.

"Go away!" The Gryffindor girl sniffed from behind her stack of books, eyes puffed up and red, tears running down her cheeks. Hermione being Hermione, she'd been resting her head on a towell instead of risking a book to the minimal danger posed by her tears. "I don't wanna talk to anyone, least of all a bitch like you."

"I'm going to kill Ron Weasley." Iris said conversationally, hugging the other girl and ignoring the hands trying to feebly push her away. Had Hermione really wanted her to leave, she'd have used a Knockback Jinx anyway.

"News..." sniff "news travels fast." The bushy-haired girl said, and cackled. "What..." sniff "What does it mean for Gryffindor House when one Lion hurts another and a Slytherin turns up to comfort her?"

"That all House rivalries are stupid." Iris said decisively, pulling Hermione up with ease despite being shorter and nearly a year younger physically. Quidditch training was useful in much more than just a game. "Now let's go before the troll comes in."

"T-troll?" Hermione glared at her, no longer crying. "If this is your idea of a joke, Black, I'm going to hex you so hard you won't be sitting on a broom for the rest of the year."

"Of course there's a troll. Quirrel fainted while announcing it and everything." Iris said cheerfully. "Now let's run before it gets in here and redecorates the library." Hermione's eyes widened to the size of saucers and bookworm or no, she put in a burst of speed and kept up with Iris just fine.

Naturally, they did not make it.

 **...**

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, the bushy girl's absence striking him as odd as the Gryffindors walked out of the Great Hall.

"Dunno mate." Ron said, now worried as well. "Don't think I saw her in the feast. Neville?"

"Me neither." The somewhat timid boy said, looking around every corner nervously. Trolls were nasty business, especially if they caught you by surprise. And after stumbling into one nearly fatal surprise after their first flying lesson, he was very determined not to be caught unawares by another.

"Anyone seen Hermione Granger?" Harry quickly asked around, trying to avoid Percy's attention. Percy might be Ron's brother, but he was also a Prefect and took his duties rather seriously. Why hadn't he noticed Hermione's absence already Harry did not know, but he was not sure they had time to find out.

"She's been in the Library since morning." Lavender said angrily, fixing Ron with a nasty stare. "Been trying to avoid you two, if you ask me." The pretty girl said with a huff, and turned her back to them.

"This isn't good." Harry whispered. "She doesn't know about the troll at all."

"Harry, Dumbledore will deal with it." Ron said, but wasn't entirely convincing. "He's the greatest wizard alive."

"Hogwarts is huge." Harry countered. "What if the troll stumbles into Hermione before the Professors find it?"

"I hate it when you're making sense." The redhead complained. "You sure you want to save Frizzy Beaver?" He joked quite badly, but Harry could see he was already getting ready to follow him despite his obvious nerves, keeping an eye on Percy.

"She unlocked that door and saved us from Filch." Harry said, falling back as Ron was already doing. Yes, the door had led to an enormous three-headed dog, but Hermione couldn't have known that.

"You're right." Ron nodded determinedly as they broke ranks with the other Gryffindors. "Filch is way worse than any troll." The two of them ran to the Library as fast as they could, and after several minutes they managed to get to their destination. Even as they neared the last corridor before Madam Pince's domain however, a disgusting stench combining the worst flavors of public toilets and unwashed socks assaulted their nostrils, and loud bangs as if something large struck a wooden door with great force stopped them in their tracks.

"Maybe that's the troll." Harry whispered as they carefully crawled onwards.

"Gee, you think?" Ron answered in kind, and they both peeked around the corner.

It was the troll, all right, and it was standing right before the entrance to the Library. It was also wielding a club longer than Harry was tall, smashing it repeatedly against... Harry and Ron did a double-take.

"Harry, pinch me mate." Ron said, shaking his head. "I'm seeing Granger and Black standing in that doorway. And they're stopping the troll from entering the Library - with magic."

"I'm seeing it too." Harry said, wincing as the troll's club struck an invisible barrier with great force. Hermione gasped and staggered back, her wand almost dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers.

"I told you to layer your shield with mine, not push it out ahead." Iris said in the long-suffering tone Harry knew quite well. It was the same tone she used on him when he didn't get a spell or theory quite right. Unlike their fellow Gryffindor, the Black heiress did not seem to be straining to hold the troll back - but that lasted only as long as the troll kept using its club. When it simply punched at the unseen barrier, Iris grunted and took a step back as if she'd taken a kick in the gut.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked in a really high-pitched voice, obviously less than calm at the whole situation. Not that Harry could blame her.

"Trolls are magic-resistant; their clubs aren't." Iris grunted again as the troll landed two more punches, obviously winning. "Shield Charms are -you guessed it- magic." The Slytherin girl staggered back, almost toppling.

"Distract it!" Harry shouted at Ron, jumping out of their hiding place without even thinking about it.

"Great plan!" Ron said, following him. "It's an empty corridor, what am I supposed to do?" Harry and Ron threw multicolored sparks at the enormous humanoid, to no effect. The only spell they'd learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts so far was meant as a warning or signal, not for a fight, and Transfiguring needles did not seem very helpful either. Besides, they were out of matches.

"Nice of you to join us, boys." Iris snarked, rather ungratefully in Harry's opinion. They were saving her, after all!

"Less nagging, more casting!" Ron said, throwing showers of sparks at the troll's relatively tiny head, annoying it. The massive beast, easily thirty or forty times their size, growled at the new arrivals and swung its club with its off-hand as if shooing pests. Harry had to duck to avoid a potentially lethal blow, while Ron jumped back. Then it punched Iris' unseen barrier again, bringing the Slytherin witch to her knees.

 _"Ignis Algens!"_

Hermione's spell created several fist-sized tongues of blue flame, which she hurled straight at the troll's face with a flick of her wand. The beast roared, flailing its massive hands around and shaking its head, dropping its club in the process. Harry, happy that the troll is stupid enough not to notice Hermione's spell fizzling as soon as it landed, urges the girls to flee. Unfortunately, the troll lands an angry kick at Iris' barrier and the girl falls back as whatever magic she'd been using shatters.

"Hate creatures... with magic resistance..." she gasps and suddenly Harry has a very brave but rather stupid idea. With a running start, he jumps at the distracted troll, climbs up its back with skill honed from avoiding Dudley's gang and Aunt Marge's dogs in his earlier years, and pokes the troll with his wand - straight at its small, beady eyes. The pained roar that follows almost knocks him off his perch at the troll's back.

"Do something!" Hermione shouts at Ron as she's dragging Iris away from the troll's reach. The redheaded Gryffindor flicks his wand, casting the first spell that comes to mind.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

To Ron's amazement, the troll's club flies all the way to the ceiling, floats for a moment, then falls. Without even realizing how, he guides it straight at the troll's head. Where spells failed, a hardened piece of wood weighing several hundred pounds and having fallen for a good ten feet is enough to finally knock the beast out of its misery, toppling it. Harry rides the collapsing troll to the ground with little trouble, retrieves his wand, and looks around in incredulity.

"We won." He says with a small smile.

"Gee Weasley, couldn't you knock it out five minutes earlier?" Iris says with a groan, not having fared as well as the rest of them in this little adventure. "Were you too busy peeking from around the corner?"

"Too happy seeing you get beat, Snake Girl." Ron shot back. "If you're such a great witch, why didn't you knock it out yourself, huh?" The opportunity to gloat seemed to have lifted Ron's spirits, but Harry was curious. His friend was right; Iris could certainly have lifted that club on her own. Now that he thought of it, maybe he could have as well - or Hermione.

"It's not easy to think straight in a fight." Iris said dismissively, and Harry could believe her. Jumping onto the troll's back? What had he been thinking? "Now that it's knocked out, I suggest we retreat. It might recover sooner than we..."

"Merlin's beard!" A sharp, dry, surprisingly loud voice said from behind them. Turning around, Harry nearly ran for the hills at the new horror that awaited them.

None of them had ever seen Madam Pince so angry.


	21. A perfect match

**I am finally recovering from a nasty bout of the flu. Sorry for missing the past two updates, but it couldn't be helped. I'll be catching up this week, hopefully.**

 **Thanks for pointing any grammar errors. I'll be fixing them as soon as I got some free time.**

 **Madam Pince was only angry until she realized the four firsties prevented the Troll from polluting her library. Then she was friendly enough.**

 **For those who wondered if Iris set up the troll incident, no she didn't. She did take advantage of her foreknowledge and manipulated events to see what Harry and Ron would do, if anything. With a wand, she's around Bellatrix's or McGonagal's level; a troll was not much of a threat at all.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the movie adaptations had Harry committing a bazillion Quidditch fouls in most games? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is totally for fun, not profit.**

 **...**

"Are you bloody stupid, Black?" Marcus Flint shouted as soon as she returned to the Slytherin common room that night. "We're playing Gryffindor in a couple of weeks and you risk yourself against a bloody troll? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Proving that I am a very capable witch, for one. Appearing heroic and noble, whatever the Gryffindors might say about us Slytherins. Seeing what the best Gryffindors in my year would do in a tight spot. Earning the favor of the sole guardian to the Restricted Section by keeping the troll out of the Library for as long as I did. Laying the foundations for some useful friendships. Seeing how much truth there is in the legend of the Boy Who Lived. Having my actions be seen as commendable by the faculty. Gaining points for Slytherin. Cowing any in-House rivals by facing a foe that had them running scared." Iris was very deliberately counting those reasons in her fingers and, with only one finger left, smirked at Flint. "Oh, and bragging in my Captain's face when he acts precisely as I expected."

"Yeah, right." Flint retorted. "Rumor has it that Potter and Weasley had to save you and the Mudblood."

"Indeed?" Iris levitated the burly sixth-year several yards off the floor with a flick of her finger. "Weasley knocked the troll out with its own levitated club. Does it look like I have problems with that particular spell?"

"You couldn't possibly have worked a troll invasion into your plans." The boy said with far less certainty than before. Like the others from her House that had come to watch the ickle firstie getting verbally reamed by the Captain of the Quidditch team, his confidence in the rumors' version of events had been thoroughly shaken.

"Welcome to the shadows we Blacks move through." She said, setting him down and walking to her dormitory without another word. Let her Housemates believe as they would; the reputation of the House of Black would ensure they'd accept the more callous mask she wanted to display. It would solve quite a few Pansy and Draco related problems in the short run. After all, she really had manipulated the troll encounter until Ron and Harry's arrival - if not quite in the way the Slytherins would believe.

"Quite the performance, back there." Lillian said, giving her a small smile. "Was it for our benefit or for Potter's?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Iris replied noncommittally, taking parchment, quill, and her textbooks out of her trunk.

"You are good, I'll admit as much." The other girl frowned. "Without prior knowledge, I would have believed everything."

"Oh?" Of course the Moon family would be both perceptive and well-informed. Like the Zabinis, they'd managed to go through both Blood Wars and the unpleasantness with Grindelwald entirely unaffected. In fact, they'd kept themselves under the radar of both sides in all three wars, and profited from it as well. Now Iris had to know just what the girl believed she knew, and whether she'd have to postpone her Potions essay to deal with it.

"Why all the dealings with your cousin?" The olive-skinned girl asked curiously. "Does Lord Black plan on a marriage contract between you?" Iris almost gagged at that.

"I don't think Draco is that much of a catch." She said, coughing lightly.

"Oh, I know. I was speaking of your other cousin." Lillian Moon winked. "You do have an interest in Harry Potter, do you not?"

 **...**

"Hey Dogbreath, I'm home!" Bellatrix shouted as soon as she got through the entrance hall. Discarding her heavy boots and coat as well as her magical disguise, she made a beeline for her despicable cousin. As often as not these days, the mutt could be found in their grandfather's study, wielding responsibilities and titles he'd never earned.

"That's Lord Dogbreath to you." Sirius said, wearing the face of Arcturus Black. "Had your fun playing security chief for today?" His pompous manner and apparent attention to the many parchments and texts littering the massive mahogany desk did not fool her; the mutt was having fun at her expense. For that alone, she drew her wand and pointed it at his face without warning.

"Was it your idea?" She growled?

"Whatever do you mean, dear Bella?" he asked, eyebrows rising in mock surprise.

"Hiring the mudblood Tonks!" She screamed, no longer able to control her anger.

"Temper, temper." Sirius playfully admonished and only managed to anger her further. "We needed a good solicitor and he was available. What's the problem?"

"You bloody well know what the problem is, you mangy mutt!" She growled. "He's a good-for-nothing mudblood! He didn't even have the skill to get a job involving magic at all!"

"Really?" The bloody idiot had the temerity to laugh in her face. If her loyalty to her House had not been on the line... "And I thought you hated him because Andi married him."

 _"Cruc-"_

Unseen force hit her just below the ribs with the force of a Centaur's kick, interrupting her spell, throwing her all the way across the room, and slamming her into the wall. Shaking his head, Sirius rose from his chair, revealing the wand he'd been holding under the desk and out of sight of any visitors. Before she could catch her breath and muster any resistance, her wand flew out of her fingers and into his hand.

"Tsk, tsk. Falling for such a simple trap." He stood over her at a respectable distance to avoid any sudden lunges, and shook his head. "You might be better at magic, cousin, but there's a good reason I am in place as Lord Black while you are training our people in security."

"Yes, because our current business involves that stupid game." She tried to spit in his face, but the bloody projectile fell short. "How's the broom business going, by the way?"

"Much better than your guts will fare without a healing potion." He smirked nastily, magically locked her in place, and stepped on her stomach. It hurt - mildly. The bloody coward would not even dare use the Cruciatus. "Consider this, Bella. You'll spend tonight locked up for trying to attack me, and tomorrow one of those muggleborns you so despise will hand you your arse in training since you'll still be recovering. In the meantime, I'll be finalizing next year's deals with the International Quidditch teams. Seven players, three reserves, a hundred and sixty international teams in the world. Given the price of our next Firebolt model, that will be nearly five million galleons' worth of sales." Her cousin sighed, and walked back to his desk.

"If you do not realize that brute force can't be the first answer to any problem within organized society..." He shook his head once more. "Honestly, Bella. As our baby cousin said, Slytherins are supposed to be cunning. When will you start being so?"

 **...**

It had only been a week since Halloween, and Harry was already wondering whether he'd made the right decision. Fighting that troll had won all four of them a few points, the attention of their Professors, and the favor of Madam Pince, but the last two were of dubious usefulness to him and Ron - especially since Snape was one of the Professors whose attention they'd drawn. The dour Potions Master had been even more abrasive than normal in class, something that might or might not have to do with his new limp.

"If you insist on partaking in such a dangerous sport, Harry, you might as well do it right." Hermione said decisively, handing several books on Quidditch over to him. "You should know the official rules as confirmed by the Ministry of Magic, note all the seven hundred recognized fouls, know all the..."

"Come on, Hermione! You're going to frighten poor Harry into quitting!" Ron interrupted the girl's tirade. "Quidditch is supposed to be fun, not a History exam!"

Gryffindor's resident bookworm being much friendlier to them after the troll incident had its pros and cons. Having someone willing to check their essays for errors, or save Ron from Snape's and McGonagal's ire by pushing him to study harder were among the former - as was having a very intelligent and caring friend that shared Harry's mixed feelings on Iris. But Hermione's tendency to always look for a solution in a book no matter how physical and action-related a problem was? That had become a new source of annoyance, especially when it came to Quidditch.

"I have learned the rules of Quidditch, you know." Harry cut her off before she could start once more. "It's a sport; reading every little detail in a book isn't going to help me against the Slytherins come Saturday."

"Oh really?" Hermione challenged, her unruly hair frizzing up as if charged with static electricity. "Tell me Mr I-know-the-rules, what happens if Iris Black glues your hands to your broom with a sticking charm so you can't catch the Snitch?"

"She'll be disqualified for magic use." Ron interrupted, a roll of his eyes saying 'everyone knows that'. "An easy win for Gryffindor." While Harry agreed with the sentiment, he doubted his cousin would do anything of the sort. Slytherin or not, she was not nearly as dumb as Malfoy. Not to mention she played fairly when her Housemates did not.

"Is that so?" Hermione said with a smirk. "What if Black can pull so basic a charm off wandlessly? While wand and potion use is mostly forbidden in Quidditch, wandless magic isn't and can't be. After all, we command our brooms to fly with it and wizards and witches can survive collisions with hunded-pound iron spheres at upwards of a hundred miles per hour because of it." The bushy-haired witch crossed her hands and glared at them with an air of superiority. "Still think that details are useless?"

"Blimey, Harry, what did we do to deserve her?" Ron asked half an hour later, after Hermione had left. "I mean, I know I ain't the best student but to have it proven several times per day..." The redhead seemed to deflate dejectedly at the thought.

"Hermione isn't so bad; she really cares, you know?" Harry said, trying to cheer him up. "And come the end of the year, we'll really appreciate every help we can get with exams."

"Oh no!" Ron stared at him in horror. "Has she already corrupted you? Normal people don't think about exams eight months before they happen!"

"We were very lucky Iris wasn't sorted into Gryffindor, then." Harry said, having a bit of harmless fun on Ron's expense. As much as Hermione needed to loosen up, Harry hoped his new friend would get a little bit more serious. "If you think Hermione's guilt-tripping is bad, you've never had a cousin that could play you like a bloody fiddle making you read all your textbooks months before the school year starts."

"That bad?" Ron asked, suitably horrified.

"Occasionally worse." Harry truthfully admitted. "I don't resent a moment of it though. Iris was the first person to really care about how I'd do in the wizarding world, you know? She actually visited me in my muggle relatives' house, spent hours in her every visit tutoring me."

"Really?" Ron stared at him suspiciously. "Harry mate, are you having me on? The Scion of the Black family visited a muggle-owned house in a muggle neighborhood? The Slytherin princess tutored you, the Boy-Who-Lived? Are we talking about the same girl, here?"

"Not every Slytherin is bad, Ron." Harry told his friend. "Didn't Iris say something about your grandmother being a Slytherin and a Black?"

"Well, there are always exceptions..."

"Yes." Harry readily agreed. "Which is precisely why not all Slytherins are bad. Now, let's get our assignments over with before Hermione returns."

 **...**

The Slytherin locker rooms were very different than the Gryffindor ones, Iris thought as Marcus Flint explained the tactics the team would be using in the next few hours, or the lack thereof. For one thing, except for the general area where the entire team gathered for their tactical discussions, they weren't exactly clean. For another, the girls' locker room had been boarded up since 1977 when Lucinda Talkalot had been the last female player and team Captain. And while the door to the girls' locker room was no longer locked up and nailed shut, someone had arranged for the interior to remain in its original condition.

"Aren't you going to change, Black?" Flint asked innocently and a couple of the other players laughed. "Planning to fly in your school robes, are you?" Yep, Iris had a very good idea who was responsible for that particular arrangement. That did not mean she had to play into any of their traps.

"Marcus, I am a witch - not a muggle brandishing a stick." Drawing her wand she flicked it once, switching her school robes for her Quidditch uniform. With a bit of extra concentration, she pulled off a packing and folding spell in the same wand motion. She wasn't back to using multiple battle transfigurations at once, but she was slowly getting there. "What need have I of most things when I wield a wand?"

"Right." Marcus grunted. "Now that our Seeker has totally cheated us of spying on her through a keyhole-" more laughter followed and Iris rolled her eyes in exasperation "-it's time we went out and crushed the Lions under our heel. Bole, Derrick, swing those bats of yours for all you're worth. I want the Lions' bitches off their brooms and I don't particularly care how it happens."

Lovely and elaborate tactical direction, that. Iris kept her sarcasm to herself and tuned out her Captain's little speech. Marcus Flint's bigotry would have to wait for when Voldemort-possessed Professors weren't about to curse Harry off his broom. Knowledge of how problems had been resolved in the other timeline was no guarantee History would repeat itself, as the troll incident had proven. She'd have to keep an eye on Harry and...

"...which brings us to you, Black." Flint said with a sneer, interrupting her thoughts. "Since there's no way you could outfly Potter in that glorified twig you'll be flying, I want you to distract him. Boy-Who-Lived or not, he's a new player who's lived with muggles all his life. Draw his attention, interrupt his line of sight, and he will lose the Snitch. Draw things out; you've been flying for years. There's no way he'll have your level of endurance. Once he's too tired to fly straight, your chance will come."

It was easy to forget that whatever his many faults, Flint was still the most prominent Slytherin among the upperclassmen and such a distinction could not come without a measure of cunning and talent. Oliver Wood putting the entire Gryffindor team through the grinder aside, Flint's plan was both simple and viable. But far more importantly, he'd given her an idea...

 **...**

"Hey there, Harry." Iris' greeting surprised him out of his search pattern and forced him to focus on her. "No sign of the Snitch, huh?"

"No, I..." Harry stopped talking as soon as he remembered Iris was now a Seeker in a rival team. However friendly his cousin might usually be - and she was more aggressive than he was comfortable with at the best of times - she was also an intensely competitive individual. Their tutoring sessions had proven that, if they'd done nothing else. So Harry put on a burst of speed with his new Nimbus 2000, trying to put as much distance between himself and the black-haired, green-eyed girl as possible. He really didn't want to get his hands stuck on his broom's handle.

Air flowed through his hair and pressed against his glasses as he picked up speed, until elation and adrenaline made his heart beat like a drum. Unfortunately, a missile in green and silver arroached from his left, making minor course corrections as the school's ancient broom vibrated beneath her.

"Why, Harry" Iris snarked, pulling up next to him "no time to speak with your dear, beloved cousin?" Not bothering to respond, he urged his broom to higher and higher speeds until the wind threatened to rip his glasses off his eyes and the quidditch field beneath them had become a blur. He got no closer to getting rid of the persistent girl however, who kept up pace with him despite her broom shaking every so often. How she could even fly under those conditions, he had no idea.

A few minutes later, Madam Hooch's whistle could be heard dimly over the roar of the wind around him, but no penalty was awarded. Katie Bell had to hand over the Quaffle to Marcus Flint instead, as Harry looked on curiously. Why did they...

"Hermione was right!" Iris shouted from less than half a dozen yards to his left. "You did fail to follow her advice on Quidditch rules."

"What are you talking about?" He shouted back.

"Players can fly as high as they want, Harry." She said and he could see her satisfied smirk at a distance. "They still mustn't stray over the boundary lines, though."

Preoccupied as he was with trying to avoid his cousin and find the Snitch, it took a few moments for Harry to realize the player who was breaking that rule was himself... but by then the Slytherins had been given the Quaffle once more. This was going to be a long game.

 **...**

Quirrel was annoyed. Not due to Snape's pathetic efforts to counter his jinx, no. With his Master backing him directly, there was no way a young and naive wizard like Severus would be able to block him, not on something as advanced as a powerful wandless jinx performed without visible components on a distant target.

No, his efforts were failing due to the Black girl. If he didn't know how deep the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry truly went, he might suspect that the girl was doing it on purpose. But no, she was simply marking Potter closely and was doing an excellent job of it; over the past two and a half hours she'd forced the brat into several mistakes and prevented him from catching the Snitch twice. Her desire to see Potter humiliated must be very strong, if she could fly so well against him with such an inferior broom.

Which was precisely the point his Master had made to him not long ago. Brooms were merely a focus, much like a wand. They could help a witch or wizard fly, but only help; it was the wizard that flew. That was why muggles could not use brooms at all... and how his Master had taught him to fly entirely unassisted. If one's desire to fly was great enough, no broom was required - something that had been really helpful in his Grinngotts heist. Who needed the goblins and their wagols loaded with security measures if one could glide through the tunnels never setting foot on the ground? Too bad the Stone had already been removed from its vault. If only he'd been a little bit faster...

Thinking about that now was as useless as trying to curse Potter with the Black girl blocking his line of sight several times a minute, so Quirrel concentrated on his other plans. There would be many opportunities to get to the Brat-Who-Got-Lucky over the year. He didn't need to limit himself to a silly game, did he? Why, Potter could accidentally fall from a moving staircase at night, or get lost in the Forbidden Forest of he proved to be as inquisitive as his father had been. Severus had complained about the elder and unlamented Potter often enough to give Quirrel ideas, after all.

 **...**

Iris flew through the darkening skies on a rickety broom held together only by her own magic. Her Quidditch uniform stuck to her skin due to copious amounts of sweat and being pressed against a wooden stick with failing cushioning charms by g-forces that easily exceeded twice her own weight had lost its appeal after the first four hours. Unless the match ended soon or Snape started handing out muscle relaxants, she'd be sore in the morning too.

Pushing one of the school brooms to perform at nearly the speeds a Nimbus 2000 was capable of had not been easy. In fact, it required more a delicate and skilled touch to do than Unassisted Flight because she had to fight against the broom's limitations without destroying it. Iris vowed to recover that particular Paradox-stunted power in the coming months and only pretend to fly on a broom in any matches that needed this level of effort in the future.

Harry had managed to avoid Quirrel's interference so far, and with night falling the possessed Professor would no longer have clear line-of-sight. He must be almost as tired as she, given his less practiced endurance, and itching to get his hands on the Snitch too. Iris debated whether she should allow that for the upteenth time. On one hand, Harry needed someone better than him to push him to train harder in order to achieve his full potential without going through three decades of war. On the other, Harry deserved to not have his future female self steal his victories from him - a sentence that showed just how messed up both his and Iris' lives were. In the end, it came down to pride. Iris had become accustomed to winning, at least when it came to Quidditch or magical fights. Allowing her male counterpart to win... it went against the competitive streak she'd developed over the decades. On the other other hand, why not give him a fair chance? Beyond it making one too many hands, that was.

Deciding that five hours made for a long enough game, Iris touched the wand in her left arm holster and cast a nonverbal Supersensory Charm. Five seconds later, she was flying at maximum speed towards the Snitch. Harry didn't miss that abrupt change in her flight pattern, and followed closely. He was not as tired, he rode a broom he did not have to fight, and had as much raw talent as she did. She was more experienced and magically stronger, at least for now. It was a fair race, if a brief one.

Half a second before she could catch the Snitch, Iris' broom finally gave out.


	22. A perfect outcome

**Akshat:** **Iris is a first year. She couldn't bring her own broomstick to school according to the rules. There's actually no rule against joining a team though.  
**

 **ehanda: While Harry, Iris, and Hermione are all about the same age physically, Hermione is more mature emotionally and Iris has the memories of a forty-year-old. Of course Harry would feel a bit resentful when they pressure him for his own good - which young boy wouldn't?**

 **Navn Ukjent: Yep, Lucinda Talkalot is canon, or at least movie-canon, not my own invention.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Trio or at least Hermione ever use the Room of Requirement to specifically search for advanced books that might help them after the Room showed them it could provide books? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **...**

After the death of Mad-Eye Moody during the Battle of Seven Potters in the future timeline, the new Ministry had insisted falling off a broomstick be part of mandatory Auror training. Actually, Hermione, Ron, and Iris had been the ones insisting... and those brave or stupid enough to speak against it had to suffer through over a dozen hours of Hermione's reports of when and how muggles survived falling from great heights without a parachute. If mundane people could survive a twenty-thousand-foot fall from an airplane, the brilliant but bossy witch had insisted, witches and wizards with much tougher constitutions and magic should be able to every time. It took a year and several insane stunts from the DA members turned Aurors, but the program had become a success. A trained wizard knowing how to fall and with a minimal control over his magic would no longer die from any falls. Some, Neville first among them, could even turn their falls to harmless bounces; reports of suicide jumpers over Great Britain had gone up over fifty percent before then-Minister Kingsley had found out and put a stop to it.

Unfortunately, Iris' younger body lacked the relevant muscle memory since it hadn't undergone such training, her younger mind was more susceptible to emotions and thus her magic was slower to control, and flying at nearly the top speed of a Nimbus 2000 meant she had under a second to realize her broom had failed and prepare for impact before she crashed into the wooden supports of the Ravenclaw stands. A series of over a hundred cracks echoed like automatic gunfire through a skull that had taken at least one serious blow. The youngest Slytherin Seeker in a century did not have time to tell the breaking wooden supports from the cracking bones as she was thrown around like a ragdoll by her own momentum. Her vision was already a darkening blur after the impacts stopped and she had to fight too much pain to think clearly. At least the worst was over, and she would soon be taken to the infirmary.

That thought lasted only long enough for the rushing wind against her numb face to register. She fainted before she met the ground after having gone all the way through the wooden stands...

 **...**

"I have seen some pretty crazy stunts in my day but this one tops it all, kiddo." An old, dry, deep, but faintly amused voice echoed through the white mist. Oh crap, was she back in Limbo?

"I don't know what Limbo is, but you're not in it." The old but strong voice said. "In fact you're in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and under the Imperius Curse."

"Wh...t...?" Trying to speak through the compulsion-induced haze did not work very well. A relaxing, insidiously entrancing haze made her thoughts and actions as slow as molasses, unless they were reflexive. She was beginning to throw the treacherously comforting curse off when the old man spoke again. Whoever he was, he was in for a world of hurt once he got out of this.

"You don't want to fight this off, kid, trust me." Yeah, right. The only people who'd ever put her under the Imperius did not exactly mean well. "You're currently under a triple Skele-Gro dose, regrowing six dozen bones. Pain-relieving potions and Skele-Gro don't mix and anything short of the Draught of Living Death would never have kept you asleep through the pain. Fortunately, a certain cousin of yours knew to suggest the Imperius and as your Head of House I was allowed to administer it under controlled circumstances."

"Siri...?"

"Uncle Arcturus or Lord Black will do; 'sir' is such a muggle appellation." The old man sighed heavily, and through the haze Iris understood why calling him by his real name would be a bad idea... mainly because the highly suggestive voice of the compulsion whispered _'Don't betray Sirius' identity'_ over and over in her mind. Huh... she'd never considered that the Imperius could be used to silently impart information at a distance, but it made sense; Voldemort and his chief Death Eaters had been able to control their minions across Britain. She wondered for a moment whether two individuals Imperiusing each other would effectively have long-distance telepathy... then considered how badly wounded and weakened she must be for the curse to so heavily affect her compared to her usual reaction.

"This child needs to regrow seventy-three bones, nine ligaments, her right kidney and her left lung! She does not need you to speak to her, Head of House or not!" A shrill female voice said from somewhere beyond Sirius-as-Arcturus. Iris did not need to open her eyes to recognize Madam Pomfrey's voice. That was a good thing; her eyelids weighed about as much as all the gold in Grinngotts at that moment.

"Madam I have never been, nor do I plan to be, one of your patients. My grandniece might be one of your patients, but only by necessity; had she been well enough to transport to 's, she would have been there already." It might have been the Imperius' influence but Iris thought she'd detected a hint of mirth in her cousin's voice. "If you continue to babble about appropriate visiting hours as you did against the only spell that ensured the Black Heiress isn't under pain equivalent to the Cruciatus, I will convene the School Governors and demand your replacement. Student and visitor discipline is a job for the Heads of the Houses of Hogwarts or at most the Headmaster, not for its mediwitch."

Of course... Sirius had had a taste of Madam Pomfrey's bedside manner as a student years ago, and was a prankster. He would never resist putting the strict woman in her place while disguised as too powerful and influential a visitor for her to throw out. Iris didn't quite catch the rest of their conversation. The bed she'd been placed upon was surprisingly soft and warm for an infirmary cot, and the encroaching darkness was rather welcoming...

 **...**

"So your suspicions remain, Severus?" Albus Dumbledore said, chin resting on his long, pale, wrinkled fingers, silver hair and beard arranged around his face almost like a halo. It had been an eventful day, and an even more exciting night so after his brief encounter with Arcturus Black, he'd retired to the Headmaster's office with the only other person he could trust with his secrets... up to a point anyway.

"If anything, they have grown stronger sir." The young, dour Potions-Master said somewhat hoarsely. "Quirrel had been whispering that curse nonstop for hours. I do hope his throat is suffering as much as mine.

"Need I remind you Severus, that victims of the Imperius Curse can perform many feats their controller is capable of even when they themselves are not?" Which was why nobody had considered a medical use for the Imperius Curse before. Dumbledore himself would not have allowed it if he wasn't certain he could ensure the curse had been lifted after careful examination.

"That is true, Headmaster, but a powerful wandless curse? That's stretching it." Severus snorted. "Why not capture and interrogate Quirrel now?"

"We certainly could, couldn't we?" Dumbledore mused. "On the other hand, if we do we'd get no closer to apprehending Voldemort or even confirming his presence. He, on the other hand, would realize we're on to his movements and endeavor to conceal them more effectively in the future. Even worse there are potential moves we cannot block with the Ministry being as it is, moves we can't risk making Voldemort desperate enough to take."

"Headmaster, I don't believe Azkaban..." Severus started but Dumbledore interrupted him with a gesture.

"Let's agree to disagree on that, Severus." Dumbledore stared at him intently and Severus felt as if he was being measured and found wanting. A most unpleasant sensation, that. "What of the investigation?"

"Rolanda believed it was only a normal failure due to the broom's age and intensity of use. She did not notice my Confundus Charm and by now the magic should have faded too much for detection." The dark-haired young man smirked nastily. "How vindictive of Quirinus to unload his frustrations on the Black girl, don't you think?"

"Which is why I'd like to believe he is being influenced rather than making his own decisions." Dumbledore sighed. "Like the Troll incident before it, it was a clumsy move with little regard to either stealth or the lives of students. The Quirinus Quirrel we both knew when he taught Muggle Studies here would have been incapable of either."

"Your tendency to give people second chances may one day cost us dearly, Headmaster." Snape stated. Most people would find those words quite ironic coming from him, but they wouldn't know the whole story. He may have been pardoned by the Ministry for his being a double agent, but Snape was not a free man. Were he so, he would be a spellcrafter now, or doing potions research, not suffer through teaching year after year of dimwitted dunderheads. Dumbledore wanted him close by however, showing future generations of Dark witches and wizards how he was still loyal to his old master, keeping channels of communication open, being ready at all times to return to Voldemort with false promises if the situation warranted it. It was a thankless job - and one he'd readily bound himself to over a decade ago as penance for the betrayal of his only true friend. "Shall I inform Lord Black of the situation, or will you be doing it yourself?"

"You would risk contact between an agent of Voldemort and the Head of the House who provided his greatest supporters?" Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows almost vanished into his silver hair as they rose in question. "Especially given your recent encounter with the man?"

"No." Snape almost growled his responce, his knuckles white as they clenched into fists. Recovering the memory of said encounter had not been pleasant, realizing how swiftly he'd been overpowered even less so. He'd wanted a few moments alone with Lord Black, knock him off-balance with word of who exactly had targeted his little brat, and then see if he couldn't turn the tables on the arrogant pureblood bastard. But of course, it was not to be. Not if their - Dumbledore's - plans were to survive.

"As you say, Severus." The ever-cheerful, inhumanly calm manipulator mockingly agreed. "We'll wait and see. It is all we can do for now."

 **...**

Iris escaped the confines of the Hospital wing three days later to find the atmosphere in Slytherin House much changed. Marcus Flint and the rest of the Quidditch team were rather subdued after their enormous defeat against Gryffindor. They didn't quite blame Iris for it either... because they couldn't. Prolonging the match to several hours had shown that despite their superior endurance and player size, the Slytherin team simply did not have the tactics and training to take advantage of the situation against the Oliver-Wood-trained Gryffindors. They'd been so far behind on points that Iris catching the Snitch would not have gained them a victory anyway. The final result had been Slytherin 180 - Gryffindor 490, one of their worst defeats in decades. Their own faults however did not prevent them from giving Iris the silent treatment.

The rest of the House was quietly but surely showing concern and sympathy for her recent injuries. In a rare show of true Slytherin solidarity not even Pansy had said anything insulting, and the other girls in her year had been rather friendly. The same could be said of their Head of House; Snape had not taken a single point or given her any detention for all the hours of lessons and all the homework she had to make up for. She didn't trust either change; a somewhat friendly, or at least nonaggressive, Severus Snape was suspicious if anything was. The subtly increased scrutiny from the Headmaster and Quirrel's simmering anger against her were not welcome either.

To avoid all the awkwardness, Iris had decided to advance the timetable for one of her little projects. Midnight of Wednesday the 13th had found her on the seventh floor corridor only a few minutes after the Gryffindors had passed through going to their Astronomy lesson. For this foray into the castle she'd pulled all the stops. Under the Cloak of Invisibility she also had a strong Disillusionment Charm to ensure accidents or lack of attention did not partially expose her, as well as one-way silencing and secrecy spells. The most powerful Notice-Me-Not Charm she could cast would ensure that even if she were detected, such as from a Presence-Revealing Spell or the Maurauder's Map, the viewer would ignore her presence unless they were strong-willed enough to throw off an Imperius Curse. Her own detection spells ensured most people couldn't approach her unannounced and the Maurauder's Map from the future would track even ghosts or Peeves. The only person in the castle who could find her as she stood before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was Dumbledore himself, and even he would have to look specifically for her... probably.

Covering the entrance to the Room of Requirement so that only she could find it would require the Fidelius Charm and, given the state of her magic, a lot of trial and error to pull off. Putting the Room itself under the Fidelius was a no-no for many reasons. Voldemort knew of the Room and that one of his Horcruxes were there for one; if he suddenly couldn't remember where he put the Diadem, he might decide to check up on the other Horcruxes. In addition, Iris planned to spend hours every day inside the Room and a Secret Keeper living under her own Fidelius would eventually break it. Not to mention that the Room was a magical extradimensional construct of varied size and contents; putting a Fidelius upon it would have been a challenge for an adult future-Iris, let alone her current state. No, hiding just the door itself, not the Room or the corridor the door could be found in, was the only option.

It was the early hours of the morning when Iris was finally satisfied with her work. Since there was little point in going to sleep with only a few hours left before breakfast, she decided to begin cataloguing the Room's contents. It had been a thousand years and more since the Room had been built. If Iris wanted her years in Hogwarts not to go to waste, seeing what books on very advanced or forbidden magic had been stored within over said millennium was a good place to start.


	23. A perfect counsel

**a1993: Yes, the Room will become important soon enough. As for Victorian Floriography, code messages through flowers had been in use since ancient times but became more prevalent and systematic during the Victorian era. In Snape's case, an infusion of wormwood (which is very bitter) added to powdered root of asphodel (which belongs to the lily family) is key to making the Draught of Living Death. Ergo, he bitterly regrets Lily's death and said so to Harry in their first-ever encounter. Why he expected a Dursley-raised boy to get the message though, nobody knows.**

 **guest: Harry's eleven. People often are illogical at that age. That applies to Iris too, since her body and brain chemistry is just as immature.**

 **timewastin: Iris isn't infallible. That aside, when under the power of very dark, very mad, emotionally stressed witches and wizards, not antagonizing them is a good idea. Especially since if they press you enough they might learn secrets you don't want them to. It should be noted that despite the limitations imposed on her by the Blacks, Iris still got out in a better position than she'd started with.**

 **Jiggly Joe: Draco owned the Elder Wand at the time, he simply didn't have opportunity to use it because Harry caught him by surprise. Iris on the other hand is intentionally setting the Elder Wand aside, willingly not fighting at her full ability so any victory from her opponent will not be a true defeat for her but a training match.**

 **everyone else: thanks for your support and reviews.**

 **Disclaimer: did other, more intelligent or older students, investigate the third floor corridor after Dumbledore openly announced it to the entire school? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **...**

With five and a half weeks till the Yule break and no major events expected according to the future timeline, Iris had a lot of work to do even as most of the rest of the school relaxed in anticipation of two weeks without the Professors' slave-driving ways. On the other hand, catching up to the missed homework assignments proved really easy for Iris, especially with all the advantages being the scion of a major pureblood house provided. Naturally, that created more than a bit of resentment among the usual suspects.

"This is blatant cheating!" Hermione hissed during one of their daily study sessions in the Library. "You're supposed to use reference books, cite your sources, and actually write the assignment, not just dictate to an automated writing machine!"

"It's a Dictaquill, Granger. That makes it magic, not a muggle mechanical contraption." The bushy-haired brunette was staring daggers at the enchanted quill transcribing Iris' words to parchment when specifically directed. "Since, unlike you, I have little desire to spend hours every day writing essays, an enchanted object that allows me to finish such homework in forty-five minutes or so was a great investment."

"It still seems like cheating to me." The other girl huffed, reminding Iris just how annoying her future friend had been in their first few years in Hogwarts. "Besides, how will you learn if you don't actually do the work?"

"I've always found it easier to learn by doing, instead." Wasn't that the truth. As far back as she could remember, practice and a pressing need to succeed had always worked much better for her than theory. Case in point, the Patronus Charm; after about a dozen hour-long sessions with Professor Lupin she'd achieved a Patronus that could thwart a hundred Dementors. Iris would bet Hermione spent more hours than all those sessions put together with a book in hand every day. "Besides, Dictaquills aren't cheating; plagiarism most definitely is."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked with such venom that a Basilisk would be jealous.

"Just what percentage of your essays repeat the textbook word for word?" Iris countered, willing her past and possibly future friend to get this improtant point. In the previous timeline her friend had come to regret the time it took her to realize it. "Knowledge is good, Hermione, but will only take you so far without practice. Besides, writers are no more infallible than the rest of us. Trust in the books if you must, but verify through experience. Otherwise you'll only be repeating the mistakes of others."

Perhaps because Iris so rarely used her first name, the Gryffindor witch had taken the warning to heart that day. Others were far less accomodating, especially a certain Quidditch Captain. The first Slytherin Quidditch practice after their loss to Gryffindor was quite far from pleasant.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, Black?" Marcus Flint roared as she flew next to the Snitch for the fourth time that evening but did not catch it.

"Practicing our new strategy, of course." She shot back, executing a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid a Bludger and wave at her teammates dozens of feet below at the same time.

"What bloody strategy has you not catching the Snitch?" He shouted loudly enough for the rest of the team to stop what they were doing and listen. Rather unfortunate for Keeper Bletchley, that; the other Bludger easily found its mark on its now stationary target, knocking him off his broom.

"The one that'll win against Ravenclaw." She said, shifting minutely to avoid another Bludger attack. "No offense Flint, but you guys are huge and the bookworms are tiny. They might match us for the first hour, but if the match lasts longer you'll have the advantage. The Quidditch cup is won on points, not victories; it won't matter if the Gryffindors win their remaining two matches 300-nil if we manage six or seven hundred points against the Ravens."

"Nobody died and made you Captain, Black." Flint growled trollishly, obviously unhappy that the youngest player in his team, and a girl at that, had come up with a scheme he'd missed. "Catch the damn Snitch then return to the locker room. You're done for today."

"Make me." She shot back. Several reasons to hate Flint came back to her from her Hogwarts years in the original timeline, a certain Dementor disguise among them. The burly sixth year might not be a blood purist, not with his ancestry, but there was plenty wrong with him still. The Dementors would wear frilly dresses and go to the Yule ball before Iris allowed his bigotry and pride to cut her most pleasant activity short.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, then signaled the rest of the group. "Bole! Derrick! Bludgers on the Seeker. If she wants a long match, she better prove she can fly despite any attacks. The rest of you, practice your collisions; I want them to look like accidents as much as possible. And no whining; nobody goes to the Infirmary early while still consious."

Directions given, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team proceeded to give Iris hell until it was too dark to continue. Antiquated beliefs aside, Marcus was a good flyer and probably the toughest bastard on the team - emphasis on bastard. The first collision was little more than a sideways bump, easy to recover from if he hadn't tried to send her smashing into the stands with it. The second through fifth were more obvious attacks that she managed to roll with and absorb the impacts with little more than bruises, but the sixth fouled her efforts to avoid a Bludger, resulting in a bruised hip, a wild tumble, and a fall into the snow-covered field below. Giving up not being an option, it took three more hours and all her skill in riding the dilapidated old broom to get through the training session.

 **...**

"Maybe we should ask Iris." Harry said after another fruitless afternoon going through books in the library. "She'll probably know, save us the effort of reading all those books."

"I don't know, mate." Ron said hesitantly, two mighty and primordial instincts duking it out in his mind. Harry could readily picture Ron's hatred of useless and boring reading trading mental blows with his uncompromizing disgust of all things Slytherin. "I mean, Snape's her Head of House. If he got bitten trying to steal whatever that three-headed dog is guarding, I don't think we should let anyone in Slytherin know."

"Ron!" Hermione chastised him immediately. "Not everyone in Slytherin is a blind bigot like Malfoy or a total bitch like Parkinson!"

"Yeah, but Fred and George reckon Snape can read minds." The redhead insisted more decisively. "I don't think we should risk it."

"I don't know... we've been at this for weeks with no results." Harry mused, thinking hard. "It would be pretty dumb if we let Snape get away with it because we couldn't find anything ourselves and didn't ask anyone else for help." In the end, it came down to trust. He'd known Iris for years now, and her family had helped him survive the Dursleys. Without the Blacks, the only wizarding family that ever cared enough to look out for him, the Dursleys' abuse would have grown worse and worse. Would he have survived long enough to come to Hogwarts without their intervention? On the other hand, this crime mystery they were trying to solve was big. Grinngotts breached, the greatest wizard in the world involved, a teacher in the best magical school ever turned traitor... this was bigger than an abused orphan boy, however famous. Snape was right in at least that much; his fame had amounted for little when it came to his lessons, let alone real challenges. Could he really know how the Blacks would react in this? They did have a reputation according to just about everyone - including Iris herself.

"We could ask our families." Ron suggested. "Hermione, how about your parents? If they're as smart as you..." Harry inwardly smirked. Ron's lack of tact was still the worst he'd ever seen but his attitude towards their bushy-haired friend had changed after the Troll incident and had become almost unrecognizable when Hermione had allowed him to cheat by copying her essays. Of course, things weren't as simple as Ron assumed. Hermione had absolutely refused to be caught by the Professors in anything approaching cheating so she'd insisted Ron write everything in his own words... or she'd burn his essays with those blue flames she'd learned how to make. Ron had agreed and since then his marks had seen an improvement, while his and Hermione's friendship grew... and he still did the exact same work on each essay as he would have had he been finding the information in his textbooks.

"They are, but they're also dentists." The Gryffindor girl said with a small smile. "I doubt they'd know anything about Flamel, so you're not escaping more visits to the Library that easily Ron."

Predictably, Ron groaned and with a sigh of his own, Harry stared at all the books they'd yet to check. He suspected the task was hopeless; the Library held tens of thousands of books, perhaps even hundreds of thousands. Even checking two dozen books per day they'd need a decade to merely check a good part of the Library, let alone read it. Not even Hercules could accomplish such a monumental task, or even Albus Dumbledore.

Wait a minute...

"Guys, guys, I found him!" Harry said excitedly, showing them his first ever Chocolate Frog card. They all came together to read about Albus Dumbledore and his partner Nicholas Flamel, Hermione retrieving a book from her bag rather than a Library shelf and telling them about the Philosopher's Stone. None of the three noticed the very well hidden observer overhearing everything they said from behind a stack of advanced Charms books...

 **...**

The greatest obstacle to running around the castle at night was Dumbledore's ability in wandless, silent magic. Not only could he turn entirely invisible without aid of an enchanted item, but he could augment his senses with the only one of two magics that had directly opposed the Cloak of Invisibility and succeeded. _Homenum Revelio_ was a rare, tricky bit of magic that ignored all barriers, covers, or disguises short of the Fidelius. Very few people knew of it or could cast it; it was beyond even as accomplished wizards as Severus Snape. The Headmaster however could do it with a casual flexing of his will. To that add enough magic-sensing ability to analyze even Voldemort's enchantments, a bad case of chronic insomnia, and a fairly small bladder, and one's nighttime wanderings could be cut short unexpectedly.

Unless one had access to a certain map, that was. The Maurauders' greatest invention worked through a variant of the Homunculus Charm, producing physical representations of individuals on paper and ink rather than flesh. Hermione had always claimed that spell, _Homenum Revelio_ , and the Fidelius were part of the same obscure sphere of magic whose theory Iris had never studied in depth and did not plan to. She'd leave that to Tom Riddle, thank you very much.

She was just finishing one of her muggle sports sessions in the Room of Requirement when the Map, enlarged enough to cover an entire wall, showed the dots of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter meeting in a certain disused classroom on the fourth floor. Dodgeball requiring a player's full attention to avoid bruising, especially when played against Bludgers rather than human opponents, it was a full minute before things quieted down enough for her to confirm the contact she'd been expecting. While she spent her days studying advanced material, improving her endurance and reflexes, and working on restoring her magical ability, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had repeated History in their search of Nicholas Flamel. In a break from the previous timeline however, Harry had remembered his first chocolate frog card before the Yule break.

So how did his encounter with the Mirror of Erised repeat itself to the smallest detail? He had not even been to the Restricted section of the Library with his copy of the Cloak. Iris had been watching the Map for it, wanting not only to understand the series of coincidences that had culminated in a confrontation with Voldemort's shade in the previous timeline, but also to see how her presence influence events. And from what she'd seen of everyone's moves... a lot of things did not make sense. Could the Prophesy itself steer events towards its completion? Did History and Time have an immutably defined path?

She had no idea and that worried her.

 **...**

"A bit late for our usual talks, isn't it Severus?" Albus Dumbledore asked with a frown. "Is something wrong?"

"You could say that, Headmaster." Snape said with a scowl much deeper than his usual. With not another word, he handed over to Dumbledore a rather small piece of parchment, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. They were bound to be far more accurate than his own, after all.

"Interesting." The aging Grand Sorcerer said, examining the parchment minutely but finding nothing. "Your thoughts on this, Severus?"

"The parchment is the cheapest available from Diagon Alley." The much younger Potions Master answered grudgingly, not very happy to be giving his opinion to be measured and found wanting against the opinions of those cleverer, or at least more experienced, than he. "But the ink is muggle and the letters too uniform to be handwritten or even from a Dictaquill. Someone was trying to be clever, throw off magical methods of discovering the writer by employing a muggle machine." He snorted. "They have succeeded; I know of no way to track the sender magically, especially since the letter just appeared in my office on the first of January. Not on my desk, either; I found it on the floor, right next to an ingredients cabinet."

"I see." Undoubtedly he did; Dumbledore was a very great wizard and a sharply intelligent man. Why Snape had to wait around to listen to half-truths that didn't answer anything or rhetorical questions that so annoyed him, he woulod never know. "Do you believe it was sent by the Blacks?" Case in point.

"How should I know, Professor?" He answered the question with a question, a technique he'd been well versed in over the past decade. "I am pretending to be an ally of the Malfoys, the Notts, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Selwyns, and other Houses that fully supported the Dark Lord. The Blacks never did pledge their allegiance formally, and have since been distancing themselves from their once peers. If I had to guess, I'd say they'd prefer to fill the power vacuum left behind by the Dark Lord's disappearance and forget he or his servants ever existed."

"A proposition as intriguing to some as it is alarming to others." Dumbledore said, not mentioning who fell in either category. "In any case, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Severus. I doubt we'll resolve the mystery tonight." He dropped the innocent-looking piece of parchment on his desk, neither of them mentioning how it might affect their future plans... yet.

 _To whomever it may concern:_

 _I am aware of what is hidden in the fobidden corridor in the third floor, where, when, and from whom it came. I am aware of one nearly successful attempt to steal it, and others who were not. Nice job drawing both the perpetrator's and interested third parties' attention by announcing it during the welcoming feast, but your plan is flawed. You should do well to abandon it._

No, not a mystery they would be solving any time soon.


	24. A perfect gift

**Elim Garak: Given the various paradox-induced changes she's already come up against, she can't take things at face value. Sure, it's probably Dumbledore's plot. But what if it isn't?**

 **ArgentRoseSableWolf: Someone can bitterly regret being the cause of their best friends' death while still being a horrible person. After all Snape doesn't regret James' death at all, or most of the other deaths he was directly or indirectly responsible for. However manipulated by others he might have been, he still chose to pursue the Dark Arts even after Voldie's fall.**

 **The children's crusade: That would be telling.**

 **Jiggly Joe: it is the choice vs no choice thing. Draco never had the opportunity to decide on using or not using it. Harry Potter on the other hand, set the Elder Wand aside willingly in canon so its allegiance would pass to nobody else and its power would fade with his death.**

 **fireball900: Cassiopeia is like Bellatrix, except with fifty years more magical experience and not fanatically devoted to someone else.**

 **Akuma-Heika: The Dursleys could leave the house; if they didn't know it was happening and weren't there to stop it, well, too bad. Helga and Rowena made the Room together - probably. Making spells at the pinnacle of spatial control Charms and intent-based Transfiguration last practically forever would have taken a great deal of knowledge and hard work. Gryffindor didn't have the temperament for it and Slytherin was banished too early. Battle of the Seven Potters is early in book 7, and included Polyjuice. I'd been using some charts of historical gold prices - they might not apply universally. Still, 19 tons of gold is 19 tons of gold. " _Ignis Ad Nauseam_ " means "forever flame". Gubraithian Fire is just that; fire bewitched to burn forevermore. Val is a character from my other story.**

 **Everybody else: thanks for your support and reviews.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Voldemort try for those means of returning that were under Dumbledore's direct protection at the time when having Quirrel make him a Homunculous and brew Regeneration Potion away from Hogwarts would have returned him to full power much more easily and safely? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free.**

 **...**

"Iris, are you OK?"

Hermione was not much of a people person, and never had been. Books had been her closest companion as far back as she could remember, and her first real friends she'd made little more than two months ago. In fact, it had taken her a good week of thinking and analyzing everything about her first term in Hogwarts to realize the Black heiress had been trying to become her friend at all. But even she could tell the athletic girl with the cold, hard green eyes that must have seen too much for one so young and the long black hair that turned into a right mess as soon as the hair-care potion wore out did not have her mind in their little study session.

"It's nothing..."

"It most certainly isn't nothing." Hermione insisted, her usual bossiness reasserting itself since the other girl's iron determination seemed to be absent. "Did something happen over the holidays?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Iris retorted caustically, then threw the really advanced potions manual she'd been perusing at a stack of several others. Of course something had happened over the holidays - when else could it have happened? - but such questions were necessary to keep the flow of a discussion going and avoid awkwardness or bluntness. Or so one of the books on casual conversational ploys Hermione had read claimed. The bushy-haired Gryffindor marked her page in the pre-war Transfiguration manual she'd been reading and put it down as well, though far more gently than Iris had done.

"Look, I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." When in doubt, try the truth. "And don't tell me nothing is wrong, we're both too smart to believe that. You've been going through really advanced potions manuals and healing magic treatises since before the rest of us got back from the holidays."

"Grandma Cassiopeia is sick." Iris admitted glumly, scowling at a notebook full of simple sentences and symbols strewn together with no apparent meaning. 'Blood', 'source', and 'transference' were often-repeated words but the whole seemed more a collection of random thoughts than actual calculations.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Hermione felt bad for the other girl, even if Harry said her grandma wasn't exactly a good person. Hermione reserved judgement; she'd never met the woman after all. "Are you... are you trying to cure her or something?"

"Granger..." The Black heiress sighed. "Try not to get involved in _every_ plot that happens in this school, will you?" Good to finally have confirmation, Hermione thought as her grumpy friend sent the books she'd been reading back to their shelves with a lazy wave of her wand, then left the Library. So much for Harry's attempts to keep his cousin safe by not sharing anything about the Stone. Oh well. Maybe the boys would change their mind now about confiding in her; they really needed the help if they really were up against an adult dark wizard.

 **...**

"Kreacher!"

With a soft 'POP', the aging Elf with the drooping ears and blood-shot eyes appeared before her in the Room of Requirement. Fidelius upon the entrance or no, only in three places in the world a wizard had managed to block House Elves from that Iris knew of, and nobody had managed to copy Grindelwald's work on Numengard or Ezkridis' work on Azkaban yet - and Slytherin's Chamber still remained a secret.

"Young old Mistress called and Kreacher answered." He said, bowing respectfully and continuing in a not so quiet whisper. "What crazy schemes she's plotting again, Kreacher wonders."

Iris laughed pleasantly. "You're always good for a joke, Kreacher." Carrying out Regulus' last command for him by destroying Slytherin's Locket with a bit of Fiendfyre had totally changed the nasty old elf's attitude towards her. He was now as respectful of and nice to her as he was to Bellatrix, which was about to become quite useful. "Tell me Kreacher, could you Apparate us to a place you've never been in before and had never seen if I showed it to you?"

"Kreacher can try." He said, not very confidently but not outright saying no either. "Mistress will show Kreacher how?"

"In a rather direct manner." Iris said, touching her wand to her temple and thinking of a room she'd only been in once, in the future lifetime. Pulling her wand away drew a tuft of a gleaming silvery substance that was neither liquid nor gas, and wholly magical. "This, Kreacher, is a memory - or rather the copy of one. I am sharing it with you so you will remember our destination as I do. We'll also be using my own Invisibility Cloak and several secrecy charms." She smirked. "We will be arriving unannounced, see?"

 **...**

The stone chamber was dark and quitet, perhaps too much so. It looked abandoned for a very long time and it might have been once, but recently another use had been found for it. Iris' passive magical sense detected more than one magical alarm lulled into a false sense of security by the secrecy charms she'd spent almost an hour casting, alarms and warning spells that made her snort contemptuously at their creator's oversight. Had he employed simple physical detection like the equivalent of mechanical pressure plates or tripwires, there would have been no way for anyone to arrive unannounced, except for ghosts and similarly intangible beings. But like many other great wizards, the caster had gone for elaborate and abstract enchantments, the strongest of them based on intent. And like many other great wizards before and after him, he'd overlooked the simplest of things. How ironic, that his future self had pointed that exact flaw about his opposite to Iris in the aborted timeline.

"Young old mistress' goal be this?" Kreacher asked curiously. "Young old mistress must be very vain, to need such an old and large accessory..."

"No Kreacher." Iris said, trying not to laugh out loud. "Albus Dumbledore has hid something very precious inside this... accessory, something that could help the House of Black."

"Mistress has come to take it, then?" Kreacher asked and then gave her a horribly lopsided grin. "It is good that Mistress works for the good of the House."

"Oh no. I can't take it." Iris shook her head. "You see Kreacher, the Headmaster thought he was being clever. Only someone who wants to retrieve the object we're looking for and only retrieve it can get it. Those that want to own it or use it will not be able to find it."

"Kreacher understands." The wily old elf nodded, ears flapping limply. Many elves were smarter than wizards gave them credit for, and a few were smarter than most wizards. Judging from the way he was staring at the Mirror of Erized, Kreacher was definitely one such elf. "What object did old, silly, smelly Headmaster hide Misterss?"

"A red stone about the size of my fist. It looks like a ruby but is far more precious, and has often been called the Philosopher's Stone." She gestured at the old, dusty, claw-footed mirror. "Retrieve it, Kreacher, and you'll have done a great service to our House."

The old elf stared at the mirror for a few seconds, then patted the old loincloth he'd been wearing and retrieved something from its folds. It was indeed the Stone, somewhat smellier perhaps but hopefully still usable. Iris briefly wondered why Dumbledore's enchantments made the Stone appear in a seeker's pockers and what might have happened if someone had tried to retrieve it naked. As soon as a rather disturbing mental image filled her mind however, she did her best to avoid such thoughts in the future.

A minute later elf and witch Apparated away, the other players in the game unaware that the prize had already been won.

 **...**

Severus Snape hated grading essays. Reading through the caveman scrawls of hundreds of dimwitted fools, his mind bombarded by idiocy after idiocy, it was a veritable torture at an intellectual level. He didn't really blame the students... no, that was a lie, he totally did. It was the debased, petty, cruel, human thing to do when one had neither the power nor the opportunity to blame the true culprits. But as such things were only human nature, why should he strive to grow beyond them? The perversity of the universe had, after all, ensured all his dreams and hopes would be nothing but dust before he was twenty-one years old.

He had thus skimmed through the essays, applied the usual scathing remarks via elaborate use of the Color-Changing Charm rather than bothering with ink and pen, then returned to his reading. The book had appeared on his desk at exactly midnight of December the 25th, its means of arrival drawing his attention as much as its title. Few people sent him Christmas presents, and those that did would be highly disappointed to learn all sentimental tripe were disposed of by means of fire. He had nothing to celebrate and if others did not deign to acknowledge that it was their fault.

But a book with a title like _Means and Methods of Immortality_? After thoroughly testing it for malign magic, potions, poisons, and mechanical traps, he'd skimmed through it to see how much of a Weasley prank it was. To his shock, it had actually been genuine! It quickly debunked the usual false leads - vampirism, restorative spells, the lower forms of necromancy - and went on to discuss in depth the various true means to lasting life in a rather humorous tone. Becoming a ghost and its drawbacks was briefly mentioned, followed by imbibing unicorn blood which was just as bad in a different way. Creating an artificial source of life or finding an existing one such as the Fountain of Youth or the Philosopher's Stone could extend one's life indefinitely, as long as the source was available. Unfortunately the writer claimed, dark wizards too incompetent to try the more traditional methods would be always trying to steal your property and probably murder you horribly in the process. It was best to keep one a secret and fake your death every century or so rather than trumpet its existence far and wide, inviting all comers. Then, the Regeneration Potion. Since it restored the victim to a peak condition, restoring all physical harm up to and including replacing the entire body, the writer theorized it could be used upwards of two hundred times as it was limited only by the number of "bones of the father" one could procure. Idiots would always be willing to be servants or enemies, after all, allowing the unscrupulous dark wizard to theoretically live for millennia. Branding such idiots indelibly for future use was recommended;looking for one at the last moment was a recipe for failure . An even darker method was life transference. Assuming a spiritual or emotional link existed, a dark wizard could siphon life using the victim's soul as a conduit to renew himself. The writer wondered what would happen if a victim ever proved more strong-willed than their attacker. Could the link be used in reverse? Did dark wizards taste like chicken? Last but not least there was the Horcrux, the division and mangling of one's soul so it could be anchored externally to the body. The writer advised against this method, even though it rendered one unable to die in the first place. Firstly, such a division could unbalance one emotionally, making the dark wizard fixated on unattainable or idiotic goals, destructive towards their own supporters, and generally their own worst enemy. Secondly, a mangled soul was a ticket to nowhere. If such a dark wizard finally died, they were bound to suffer forever in spiritual limbo. Last and most important, it totally destroyed one's good looks. You'd never get the girl if you were all pale, and red-eyed, and scaly. As an epilogue, the book discussed the only confirmed means of temporarily bringing back a soul from beyond the veil. If one was killed with magic, and if a sufficiently powerful _Prior Incantantem_ effect was forced upon that wand, the victim would be brought back as a shade as the magic that slew them was reversed. Shades were more solid than ghosts but still intangible, and could speak, think, and feel since they were the deceased person in question, but could not remain for long in the physical world as it wasn't their realm any longer. The writer wondered why such magic was not used in murder cases. Asking the victim sounded like a good idea, if you had the killer's wand.

Hours later, Snape put down the tome and begun to brood. Should he show the book to Dumbledore? The Headmaster would certainly know if its contents were true and now that Snape had already read them confiscating it wouldn't rob him of the information. And the way the writer laughed at what both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had done... it could be amusing. But no, it was far better to keep this. Sending it to other Death Eaters with great concern for their master's fate could prove useful. And if the Dark Lord ever learned his Death Eaters knew some of his secrets, why, he might decide to murder them when he returned.

No, Severus Snape had a much better use for his time than listening to Dumbledore's concerns about which dark wizard had sent him such a gift for Christmas and why. It was time to search for the Dark Lord's wand...

 **...**

"Bloody hell!"

Bellatrix Black snickered as her cousin's angry and surprised exclamation echoed down from the second-floor bathroom. Masquerading as Arcturus Black, Head of House and all-around decision-maker, the mutt had little time for anything beyond his big decisions, his society dinners, his meetings, and endless stacks of parchmentwork. Since he'd smugly declared how his newfound responsibility made him so much better than Bella however, she'd decided such a life wasn't nearly punishment enough.

Her hours training the mudbloods and blood-traitors into something resembling competence might be long but they did not come with any parchmentwork. In fact, given her situation, any official business was beyond her... which left her time for some fun and games. She couldn't actually hurt him due to their loyalty oath to the House, but that did not mean she couldn't apply some pain curses on his smallclothes. Or a biting enchantment on the toilet seats. Or slip a bit of Kreacher-keyed love potion into his tea. Given the effectiveness of such traps, she should have started pranking long ago. Why, Sirius himself had disguised a murder attempt on Snape as a prank back in their Hogwarts years... and gotten away with it!

"Having fun?"

Bella turned around while simultaneously jumping aside from any curses sent her way, her wand leaping to her hand faster than the eye could see. Practice made perfect and she'd had enough over the past half a decade that her pre-Azkaban self would be an amateur in comparison. All that though might not be enough if the surprise visitor decided to attack.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, staring down at her much shorter and younger cousin. "Aren't you supposed to be in Hogwarts?"

"I am. Then again, our family had never had much repect for the rules." Iris Black shrugged. "Besides, I've been preparing a gift for Uncle Arcturus, Uncle Cygnus, and Aunt Cassiopeia. Making it proved to be a lot harder than I was expecting and far too much time-consuming."

"I doubt our Uncles could appreciate any gift; they're petrified." Bella said with a scowl. She did not like being reminded of what the Dark Lord had done to her family. "And if we take them out of petrification, they'll probably die. Aunt Cassiopeia is not much better either; maybe it's time to petrify her too. After we deal with that... deceitful creep, all of his curses should fade."

"Oh, I think my gift can help with the curse." The dangerous little girl said as they climbed up the wide stairs to the second floor, shrunken elf heads staring sightlessly at them as they ascended. "Unfortunately, it still needs a bit of testing."

"Test-" Bella's mouth suddenly refused to move, her limbs freezing as well. Now as rigid as a statue, her whole body tettered off the edge of the stairs but some invisible force lifted her and deposited her securely on the landing. Then her dog of a cousin came out from under his Disillusionment Charm.

"Hey there Iris. I got your Patronus message." He greeted the brat, then flicked pale grey eyes at her. "Not that I am against a bit of payback, but why did you have me Body-Bind our dear cousin?"

"Potions test subject." She said, retracting a small vial full of some liquid as clear as water. Setting her down on the floor, the brat unstoppered the vial and made to empty it into her mouth while the mutt watched with interest. Bella tried to struggle, get out of the body-bind and pay them back, and perhaps with time she might have. But time she did not have; the clear, odorless, tasteless liquid went down her throat.

It felt like swallowing liquid metal charged with lightning. Her whole body shook, shattering the Body-Bind reflexively before the uncontrollable spasms could break her bones. Much like the Cruciatus the unseen flames seared her every vein and blackened the inside of her bones. If it had been only that, Bella wouldn't have that much of a problem; she'd had the Cruciatus used on her before after all. But this potions was far more insidious and horrible a weapon; not only she felt as if every muscle, bone, ligament, and organ was torn apart and regrown, but the echoes of dozens - hundreds - of curses beat into her as if every harmful spell ever thrown at her was cast in reverse. And then the Dementor-induced nightmares started...

An eternity later the torment ceased, the potion having run its course. Bella breathed in a few sweet lungfuls of air and shakily took inventory of her body. In the absence of agony, how could one tell all their limbs were still there, after all? For only the third time in her life she wiped tears from her eyes, trying to grasp the enormity of what had happened and failing. Memory of the horror faded from her mind like water through open fingers and try as she might she could no longer recall how the potion's effects had felt beyond the knowledge that they were worse than death.

"Hey Bella, are you OK?" Her idiotic cousin asked, leaning over her prone form. She threw a punch faster than she'd ever had, the satisfaction of his shattering nose an infinitesimal part of the payback she still had to deliver. Jumping to her feet so fast that the edges of her vision darkened, she turned to unleash her vengeance on the brat, only to be stopped by an apparition right out of the dream world.

"Yes, it's a mirror." Iris said drily. "And yes, that's what you look like now."

"Worst beautification potion ever." Her other cousin commented after fixing his nose.

"It isn't a beautification potion, it's a curative." The world's most dangerous witch under five feet said. "It undid every bit of physical damage you'd ever suffered to your body, from the most minor scrape to the worst curse, from the wear and tear of decades to the effects of Azkaban. You're back to peak condition - and a virgin, unless I miss my guess."

"I thought only the Regeneration Potion could do that." Bella mused, still staring at the striking woman in the mirror with the perfect and perfectly healthy features, all scars, blemishes and faults no longer there.

"That is not entirely correct." Iris countered with her usual expression of 'I-know-more-than-you-do'. "Paracelsus first brewed an alternative, and Nicholas Flamel incorporated it into his greater invention."

"You made a Philosopher's Stone?!" Sirius gaped in utter shock.

"Not exactly." The girl smirked with an air of superiority. "Let's just say that certain very powerful people will soon be very disappointed - and probably alarmed, too. Fortunately, brewing the Elixir once one has the Stone is easier than brewing the Regeneration Potion. Unfortunately, the benefits are not as great." She looked critically at Bellatrix's new form. "It seems that the Elixir literally unmakes every hurt you've ever suffered, which can't be pleasant. Also, I don't think it really resets your age. Given time, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll grow from twenty-five to forty once more... unless you take another dose."

"No, thank you." Bella said with a shudder. The Cruciatus was one thing. Suffering every little pain, wound, curse, and sorrow of a lifetime was quite another. "The Flamels have been taking this potion for how long? No wonder all they do with their immortality is having a quiet life under the Fidelius; they're probably insane."

"Maybe." The girl shrugged. "Or maybe taking the Elixir periodically alleviates its side-effects. Possibly several centuries of experience brewing it might render it less harmful, too."

"You're not going to experiment on me." Bellatrix said in a tone that brooked no arguments. If the brat and the mutt tried again, she'd Fiendfyre Grimmauld Place with everyone within it and to hell with her loyalty oath.

"No, I suppose I'm not." The little menace took out four more vials and handed them over to Sirius. "One's for you. Recovering from the effects of Azkaban entirely might be worth a few minutes of terror. The other three are for Uncle Arcturus, Uncle Cygnus, and Aunt Cassiopeia. It's the only cure for the Black curse that I can think of, barring the Regeneration Potion. Even if they only take it once to return to their physical peak, it should be worth it. Witches and wizards of their power should not die in their seventies or eighties - Bathilda Bagshot is pushing a hundred and seventy and Griselda Marchbanks is probably just as old." In fact, Professor Marchbanks had still been the head of the Wizarding Examination Authority in Iris' future timeline. Given that she'd also examined Dumbledore in his NEWTs, that put her birth somewhere in the Pleistocene.

"What will you be doing?" Both Bella and Sirius looked at the girl with suspicion.

"Reading and practicing." The girl said with a long-suffering look. "There's a great deal of theory I need to go through before I start turning lead into gold."


	25. A perfect setup

**thekingofsweden1: Dumbledore and Voldemort would be capable of preventing entry by house elves if they really thought about it and cast the appropriate spells. It would just take a great deal of effort, time, and dark magic that Dumbledore would not use because he doesn't cast dark spells and Voldie wouldn't see a point in expending effort against elves.**

 **a1993: How would they know?**

 **Akuma-Heika: Iris' disputed ancestry is a nod to the recently revealed parents of James in Pottermore. We thought Charlus was his father until recently only for the previously unmentioned Fleamont to make an appearance. The Philosopher's Stone is (among other things) a catalyst that allows you to make the Elixir of Life easily and repeatedly. Heal-everything potions without the Stone still exist but are much harder to do, such as the Regeneration Potion - or Paracelsus' Panakea.  
**

 **Vukk: Physical abuse can be easily healed by the Elixir, though as both Potters stopped being abused at the age of six (Iris due to Paradox), they have revocered normally. Brain damage is physical so it can be healed - but the lost memories and personality traits would remain lost. Lycanthropy is a curse on the body rather than a fully physical condition, so only the premature wear and tear on the body could be restored. There is at least one canon way to heal both, but Iris isn't skilled enough in the Dark Arts for it.**

 **everyone else: can't answer to everyone, every time, but thanks for all the reviews.**

 **Disclaimer: was every Slytherin student in the books either a total git or total unknown for the majority of the series? If yes, I don't won Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rolwing.**

 **...**

"Trouble in paradise?"

Pansy did not bother giving an answer, despite the giggling, whispered commentary, and mocking smirks from all over the Slytherin common room that followed the question. As she'd recently learned the Black Heiress might have less than impeccable manners or looks, but could and would use her station and personal power to make up for the deficiency. It just wasn't fair! Pansy had trained for years to be good-looking, connected, and skilled enough to take Slytherin by storm only for someone else to be born in an ancient and wealthy but fading family everybody knew would never continue their line... and said someone to steal Pansy's place!

"I don't think she heard you, Black." Blaize Zabini commented in his usual oily, mocking manner. "She's too busy pining after those who don't even notice her. Rather pathetic, if you ask me."

 _"Everte Statum!"_

Pansy's Knockback Jinx struck right into Zabini's overly large mouth, slamming the boy off the armchair he'd been sitting on and leaving him prone on the cold stone floor. Even the weakest known offensive magic could be dangerous if one knew how to use it and old grampa Parkinson had been a good teacher; Zabini would be regrowing his broken teeth overnight if he wanted that perfect, stupid smile of his back.

"Could you please return to following Malfoy around like you usually do?" Iris Black said, twirling her wand in an oh-so-casual manner. "I've just had several hours of Quidditch practice and I'd like to enjoy some peace and quiet, thank you." Pansy scowled at the non-request but said nothing. Everybody knew by now that the Black Heiress could be neither intimidated nor outmaneuvered in the usual verbal fencing practiced by everyone who was anyone in Slytherin House. On the other hand, she kept to herself and was mostly reasonable so avoiding confrontations with her was advisable. Except Pansy didn't feel very reasonable. She wanted to snarl and rage, hex people, smash things and cast them into a fire.

Draco had been ignoring her for months now - ever since Potter had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was so focused on getting the Golden Lion banned from the matches, or even expelled, that he no longer even cared about anything else. Their families had been allies for a century, Draco and Pansy had been friends for as far back as she could remember, they'd practically grown up together for Morgana's sake! How... how could he forget her birthday...

"OK, Parkinson." Black interrupted her ever-darkening thoughts. "Let's hear it."

"E-excuse me?"

"You've been moping for hours." A heavy tome on Potions reagents well above their level was set aside as the short, athletic girl with the messy hair, piercing green eyes, and Hogwarts sized ego frowned at her. "And your 'beaten pug' expression is getting on my nerves. So spill; what has his ferrety highness, Scion Malfoy, done to you now?"

"You...! Don't you dare mock Draco!" Throwing caution to the wind, Pansy drew her wand. She didn't care how powerful or rich the bitch was; she'd hex her if it was the last thing she did! Except... where had her wand gone? Why was she holding a quill?

"Switching spell." The bitch said as if she'd read her mind. Maybe she had; who knew what skills the Blacks had? Legilimency was certainly not beyond them.

"Pansy..." the other girl sighed tiredly, as if goading Pansy in this humiliating position with everyone in the common room watching hadn't been her goal all along. "Why do you even like Draco?"

"...what?" Pansy's mind scrambled to make sense of the intent behind that question, but couldn't.

"It's a fair question." Black rubbed her temples as if Pansy was giving her a headache, which made even less sense. It was Pansy who had the headache after all. "Draco is a rather horrible person, don't you think?"

"Oh." Yes, 'oh'. Pansy's expression cleared minutely. For all her wealth and power, the bitch was not exactly smart, was she? Draco was loud, obnoxious, and terribly direct. But he was also insecure, when he thought nobody was looking. Not cold, like Nott, or oily false, like Zabini. And he was cute too, especially when he was being petulant. As long as she had him, and some acceptable targets to hex, Pansy could be content. "You'll never understand, Black." She finally said.

"Riiight..." The Black scion gave her a calculating frown, then nodded. "Fourth floor, eastern corridor, third door on the left. Be there tonight at seven."

"What for?"

"Because Draco will be there." Black explained with a roll of her eyes, Zabini and Nott feigning disinterest as they listened. "I won't suffer through another day of your moping even if I have to set up the meeting for you."

 **...**

"How'd you two hear of the study group?" Hermione demanded, ignoring Ron making funny faces behind her back. The two of them had become friendlier over the past few months but Harry was not sure it was an improvement. Now, instead of fighting once a week and then not talking to each other, they argued constantly... about everything! How many hours a day one should spend studying, whether Quidditch made sense, how far away exams were and what it meant for them, whether tickling the Giant Squid was an allowed extracurricular activity, how many times one must practice a spell to achieve proficiency, whether all the Snakes were all slimy gits... they were slowly driving Harry mad!

"What study group?" Harry asked offhandedly, more focused on trying to remember the way to the fourth floor than the bushy-haired girl's interrogation.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine!" She said waspishly, turning around and briefly flashing a _Lumos_ at Ron's face just as the redhead widened his eyes in another grimace. "I just don't understand why Iris invited you two... or rather him." And with that, she neatly pushed a half-blind Ron into a statue.

"OW!"

"Don't complain." Harry advised as he prevented his friend from toppling, supporting him until he could see again. "You started making fun of her behind her back."

"Yeah, well, she deserved it!" Ron insisted as Hermione easily outdistanced the two of them and vanished around the next corner. "She's been hanging out with that Black girl, learning how to hex people. She gets friskier with her wand after their every meeting together." Somehow, Harry did not think Iris was the cause of Hermione's worsening attitude. His cousin was teaching the Gryffindor girl some extracurricular spells, but she wasn't telling Hermione when to use them - or on whom, Harry was sure of it. After all, Iris had been perfectly friendly and nonjudgemental when she'd been teaching him... unless Harry tried to slack off, of course. Maybe Ron's problem with Hermione was exactly that; slackers and bookworms were natural enemies, weren't they? And after Harry had seen just how intensely the girls studied, there was little doubt in his mind that Ron was a slacker in comparison.

"Maybe if you didn't argue so much..." he started but Ron interrupted him.

"Are you mental, mate?" The ginger shuddered fearfully. "I can't back down now; Fred and George will be teasing me for life."

"Aren't they already teasing you?" He asked, but Ron ignored him.

"Looks like we're here, mate." He said awkwardly, dropping the subject. "That's the door, innit?"

"I guess..." Not wanting to press Ron any further that day, Harry looked at the entrance Iris' directions had led them to. It was rather tiny, practically indistinguishable from every other broom closet they'd seen. It couldn't be one though, especially not if Hermione and Iris were already inside. Two people inside a broom closet wouldn't be that comfortable, even if they were first years. With Ron and Harry making four, space would be a bit _tight_ and Harry really didn't want Hermione as an enemy; she knew more jinxes than he did.

"Think we should go in?" Ron asked, eyeing the apparent broom closet a bit uncertainly.

"Yeah, Iris invited us." Harry shrugged. "We've survived Trolls and three-headed dogs. It can't get any worse than that." And displaying the boundless bravery and incomparable determination of a true Gryffindor, Harry enetered the broom closet, Ron following closely behind. To their great surprise, they found a lot more than the two girls waiting for them.

 **...**

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the secret Hogwarts dueling challenge." Iris announced when it became clear none of the others would talk first. Ron and Harry were too surprised and uncertain, Hermione and Pansy were giving her disconcertingly similar death glares, Draco was so red in the face he was about to burst, Neville was sitting quietly in a corner, and Blaise and Lillian were looking at everyone and everything with a smirk and a gleam in their eyes.

What had once been a broom closet was now the size and shape of an empty classroom, windowless, deskless, and bereft of any furniture or decoration whatsoever. An Unplottable Charm ensured it would not register on locator spells or a certain Map, secrecy spells ensured its occupants would not be interrupted by Prefects or Professors, and several other improvements made it the next best place to hold a certain... volatile type of meetings after the Room of Requirement.

"Why are we here, Black?" Draco blurted before anyone else, and Iris could certainly see the curious mix of entitlement and insecurity Pansy had found so endearing. She didn't quite get what Pansy saw in him but there was not accounting for taste, she supposed. Seeing it during basic Legilimency practice had been bad enough - feeling it was... ugh, if she didn't think about it maybe it couldn't kill her brain.

"To hex each other until only one side remains standing?" Iris said rhetorically. "That's the purpose of Dueling, isn't it? Also, to promote inter-House unity."

"How is that going to work?" Harry asked, Iris getting the idea he'd already half-guessed the answer. Well her counterpart was a male version of her, if far younger. And they had known each other for years, too.

"Simple. Anyone has a grievance, wants to practice their dueling, or just feel like hexing people, can challenge someone else. Whoever wins has bragging ri-."

"That's mental!" Hermione interrupted. "You can't just start an illegal dueling club!"

"I'm not starting anything." Iris said with a smile at the bushy-haired witch. "Hexing will happen whether we do it here or elsewhere. Since the Professors can't or won't stop it, why not repurpose it? That way Filch won't be hunting down would-be duelers in the Trophy room."

"Why should we do anything you say, Black?" Draco interjected again, rather annoyed by the comment. "I don't think Weasley is up to dueling me, anyway."

"House pride, Draco." Iris said, smirking. "Granger is earning twice as many points as you. Your bragging is ringing hollow when a muggleborn is doing better than you in every class. Besides, we might all learn something practicing on each other; it's not as if Quirrel is teaching us anything useful in Defense."

"I'm in." Lillian Moon announced suddenly, cutting off the arguments. Iris had no idea what her quietest Housemate was doing supporting her idea; she'd not even been invited. She and Blaize had just followed Draco in.

"OK. Who do you want to challenge?" Better keep a closer eye on Moon from now on; she was proving to be more of a meddler than Iris had initially expected and Iris' inexpert attempts at Legilimency were still not up to reading the more disciplined first years. Besides, she wanted to see how Moon would do in a fight. The spells she used as well as the opponent she challenged might reveal interesting things about her.

"I challenge Blaize Zabini." The olive-skinned girl said, smirking at the just as olive-skinned boy.


	26. A perfect club

**That's odd. I could have sworn I posted this days ago. Then again, my account has been sending up error messages lately and some of its features aren't working. Sorry to have kept you waiting guys and gals. At least you get a double chapter tonight; the next one will be up within the hour. BTW, trying to limit my A/N a bit.**

 **Iris is starting this illegal club in first year because she's pushing for House unity, wants to break the Slytherins from following the more racist traditions and beliefs, and needs to start training people and herself as early as possible since Voldemort will be back soon enough. Harry can't go to the Blacks because Dumbledore and the whole progressive element that follows him will be against it. The Black family drama will be picking up now that the real Arcturus, Cassiopeia and Cygnus are back. As for Walburga's portrait, glad you guys noticed it missing. Its reapperance should be interesting. Bellatrix wasn't fanatically devoted; in both canon and here she could see Voldie's mistakes, which fanatics can't. She was in love with the Dark Lord instead, but had not recognized it herself. The Elixir can cure physical causes of mental problems but not the problems themselves.**

 **Disclaimer: Was Voldemort seen as the worst Dark Lord in canon, despite being an unsuccessful terrorist affecting a small part of Europe? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **...**

"Come on, Potter! You can do better than that!"

Harry doubted it. As his opponent stepped around his spells with ease, black hair dancing wildly, green eyes gleaming, and wand spitting spellfire at an absurd rate, the Gryffindor boy contemplated his grievous error in challenging Iris. He'd done so thinking that dueling the only friendly Slytherin in the room would result in getting fewer dangerous hexes in the face and probably not getting totally humiliated, but he'd forgotten the promise Iris had given him in one of her earliest summer visits when they were discussing the Noble Houses. Apparently, never treating him as less than her meant never going easy on him either. Frantically dodging jinxes as if they were bludgers and blocking what he could, he finally lost his wand and the match to a Disarming Spell that threw him twenty feet back and onto the magically softened and cushioned floor.

 _Eeeiirkk!_

On second thought, the olive-skinned boy's strangled scream followed by crumbling into a fetal position convinced Harry that he'd made the right choice in opponents, even if he'd had the second shortest fight after Ron and Malfoy, who were immobilized and spitting slugs respectively. Blaize Zabini, Harry thought his name was, had been facing the cute Slytherin girl that shared his olive skin and perfect features whose name Harry did not know. He'd thought her rather easygoing and likable since she only used mild Stinging Hexes in their fight, until a very accurate hit of hers in a rather sensitive location had reduced Zabini to his current state. Harry gulped nervously, and turned to the fourth and longest of the four fights; Pansy versus Hermione.

The bushy-haired Gryffindor was on the defensive but refused to retreat, relying on short-lived Shield Charms to fend off Pansy's onslaught of minor hexes and jinxes. Considering their apparent skill, Harry thought he'd be favorably matched with either of them after his training under Iris, though he wouldn't want to face Pansy, as angry as the Slytherin girl was at the moment. Her fury seemed to be making her jinxes fly faster and hit harder, and for all the spells Hermione had read up on, the Gryffindor girl couldn't quite match her opponent's speed. Several minutes later however, Pansy was losing steam and a desperate stunner from a shaking, thoroughly stung Hermione managed to remove her wand.

"A-are you guys done?" Neville asked timidly from a corner, staring at all the fallen duelists rather fearfully.

"Not quite, Longbottom." Iris said, stalking brazenly to the center of the room. "You haven't dueled anyone yet."

"T-that's OK." Neville wrung his hands nervously, and Pansy snickered. Harry shot her a scowl as did Hermione, though the bushy-haired girl returned to casting some sort of spell on herself over all the places Pansy's hexes had landed. "I... I don't think I'm cut out for this."

"I don't believe this for a moment, Longbottom." The Black Heiress pointed her wand at Ron and Blaize as she walked next to them, ending the humiliating aftereffects of their defeat. She paused over Malfoy and did some much more complicated spellwork, muttering under her breath, and the blond boy stopped belching slugs. "Black blood runs through your veins and the Longbottoms have been a pureblood family since the Norman invasion, producing generation after generation of powerful wizards."

"I don't think blood matters." Hermione interrupted earning her a glare from most of the Slytherins, an amused snort from the girl who'd taken out Zabini, and a serious frown from Iris.

"Granger, magical ability is equal parts knowledge, conviction, emotion, and hard work. That fact is precisely why we have the Houses we do in Hogwarts." Harry worked that over in his mind, as did most of the others. He'd never heard it put this way but now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. He recalled his first ever flying lesson and how the broomsticks had responded differently to different people, or Ron pulling off the Levitation Charm in their desperate fight with the Troll. "Families pass on knowledge, belief, and tradition to their children. Who has the greater belief his magic will work and more instinctive grasp of its workings? A pureblood with thirty generations of witches and wizards behind him, or a muggleborn raised with logic and science that has to fight her own disbelief?" Iris shook her head and stared back at Neville, her scowl deepening. "Of course many families nowadays forget that truth. Tell me Longbottom, who told you that you won't cut it as a wizard?"

"I... don't..." Like a trapped animal, Neville stared left and right with wide eyes, looking for an exit to disappear to. Harry was about to tell his cousin she was being too harsh on his Housemate when the girl sighed, put a hand on Neville's shoulder and said forcefully.

"Forget what you've been told by those who should have known better, cousin." The words were similar to what she'd said to Harry once, if more serious and less familiar. "You can become as great a wizard as any, if you want to be." There was no doubt in Harry' mind that Iris believed that, and Neville must have sensed it too because he stood straighter, more confident.

"Yeah, as long as being a great wizard involves stupid plants." Malfoy said with a snicker, and Harry had never hated the blond dandy more. He drew his wand and threw at him the meanest Stinging Hex he could manage... which Iris suspended in mid-flight befor turning to Malfoy, her face unreadable.

"Tell me... cousin... how many wizarding homes have a fireplace connected to the Floo network?"

"All of them." The mean boy sad with a shrug, then looked at Ron. "All that can afford it, in any case."

"Indeed." The Black Heiress said before Ron could attack Malfoy as well. "With tens of thousands of wizarding homes in the country and a cost of two sickles a scoop, how much do you think the Herbology Masters who make Floo Powder earn? Two hundred galleons a day? More?" She sneered, putting a Snape-worthy amount of disdain for Malfoy's intelligence into it. "Not to mention that its creator, Herbologist and inventor Ignatia Wildsmith, has been one of the most famous witches and wizards of the past seven hundred years. If the Dark Lord affected every witch and wizard in wizarding Britain for two generations, she's been affecting fifty times more wizards for ten times as long."

When Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ron left for Gryffindor tower, the usually timid blond boy had a spring in his step and a wide smile.

 **...**

Lillian Moon was throught training and inclination a very perceptive and highly intelligent young girl. The Moon family swam through some decidedly dangerous waters, where observation and careful analysis could make the difference between life and death. As a result she didn't much like puzzles she could not solve, and she had stumbled upon just that.

Oh, not the Philosopher's Stone. Careful observation of her targets had given her enough information to understand what was going on on that front, and Headmaster Dumbledore's possible plan for dealing with a would-be thief. After all, if anyone understood the usefulness of traps it would be the Moons... or their distant cousins the Zabinis. Speaking of which, taking Blaize down a peg had felt great. She couldn't wait for him to be older so more of her arsenal would be applicable to him.

No, the real mystery here was the Black Heiress. The little speech she'd given them today was both enlightening... and confusing. Not knowing, not being in control and possibly falling in the sphere of influence of another... it annoyed her to no end. It was rather obvious that after their losses in the last war, the Blacks had turned against the thankfully dead Dark Lord and his surviving former servants. They also seemed to uphold the tradition of the Noble Houses as much as they ever did and had no aversion to employing dark magic, if rumors were to be believed. What was far less clear was their endgame. Why recruit muggleborns now? Why flex their economic and political muscles like a great beast coming out of hibernation to slowly but steadily push aside the Malfoys and their allies from their control of the Ministry? And even more perplexing, why send their previously unknown scion to Hogwarts when it was clear her private tutoring had put her well ahead of her peers? Some very powerful witches and wizards had been mostly privately tutored or self-taught in the past, after all.

Lillian didn't know, but had a good idea how to find out.

 **...**

As January turned to February, Iris started wishing for a Time-Turner. Unfortunately, one of the few types of enchanted objects that couldn't be sent back in time with her had been anything to do with temporal manipulation.

Four to five hours of lessons per weekday, an hour of dictating essay assignments to her dictaquill, an hour of mandatory presence in the Great Hall for dinners, seven hours of sleep. Of the remaining ten to eleven hours, she spent one or two every day with her friends, allies and contacts either in study sessions or the Dueling Club she'd started. She didn't remember the DA ever being anywhere close to this exhausting, but then again it hadn't been a joint Slytherin-Gryffindor group.

Surprisingly even Ron and Draco had decided to keep coming, probably because they could hex each other away from adult supervision and not have to report to Madam Pomfrey since Iris restored them herself. Lillian Moon and Blaise Zabini usually came together, but the latter refused to partner with the former under any circumstances. Zabini preferred working with Hermione, Pansy, or Iris herself, while Moon hogged Harry's and Neville's attention as much as she could. Potential disaster in the making or not, Iris preferred not to be too controlling, and at least the disastrous Hermione-Pansy pairings could sometimes be avoided. As shown in their first duel, Pansy seemed to know how negative emotions could fuel jinxes, hexes, and curses, and while she'd been a largely indifferent student in Iris' original timeline, the opportunity to vent her spleen for Draco's inattentiveness by blasting a Gryffindor muggleborn was a powerful motivator that meshed perfectly with her talents and personality.

The rest of Iris' time was taken up by practice, practice, practice. Quidditch practices replaced normal lesson hours in the weekends, with Flint pushing everyone to their limit twice a week, trying to increase their endurance and pain threshold before the match with Ravenclaw. Collisions in midair with each other happened often, sometimes at Flint's insistence so they could "toughen up, you pansies" were his exact words. Simulating bludger impacts in controlled conditions, an exercise Flint had just invented and also insisted they should all take part in, used the Beaters' bats or Knockback Jinxes to make them "feel what was to be hit" without "making a right bloody mess he'd then have to clean up". They all returned aching, sweaty, smelly, and dead on their feet to their common room every Saturday and Sunday, most of them cursing Flint for the grueling, brutal sessions that only remotely resembled Quidditch practice. None of them wanted to call it quits though. Everyone but Iris really wanted to be seen as "manly", and as Flint went through every painful trial first they didn't have a leg to stand on. Iris on the other hand was the one who'd suggested turning matches into endurance contests in the first place, and backing up before Flint would be a bad idea. Since she was a girl most of the boys went easy on her... except for Flint himself who made up for all the other team members' unusual displays of chivalry. Fortunately, Iris had survived just as hard training as a young Auror, and even harder under Auntie Cassiopeia so it didn't bother her quite as much.

The activity that placed the greatest demands on her time and efforts however, were the eight hours every day she spent in the Room of Requirement. Every odd hour she spent either on a broom, or on a raised platform ten feet across, with several Bludgers set to attack her with varying intensity. She had to shield or dodge, while returning fire with spells and constructs to simulate a real fight. The exercise was of her own creation, one introduced to the future Auror corps because it simultaneously trained strength, endurance, reflexes, situational awareness, accuracy, dueling spells and, if someone else was controlling the Bludgers' attacks, basic tactics. It was also hard, mindnumbingly repetitive, and the enlarged bludger simulating blasting curse hits had a mean right hook.

Even hours were for reading the obscure books the Room could provide and practice more delicate or subtle magic, while her body recovered from the intense action. Iris had never been good in neatly annotated theory, or the more complex and abstract fields of magic. She'd always cast through conviction and emotion, and all of Aunt Cassiopeia's attempts to teach her Runes, Arithmancy, or practical Divination had fallen flat. Time being a limited commodity given the schedule of Riddle's return to magical Britain, it would be best to concentrate on fields where strength of will and visualization were paramount. Thus her forays into the Mind Arts. Snape's inability to teach her Occlumency during her fifth year in the past timeline had been rather odd, given how she could throw off the Imperius or use it upon others with far less formal training and at a younger age than most. Occlumency had still come slowly in the two decades after the Battle of Hogwarts, but she eventually had become proficient. Legilimency on the other hand she'd begun training in earnest only after her time-travel, mostly because the use of Veritaserum by Aurors on captives had been legal in the future, as had been the Imperius for bloodlessly ending fights and demanding potentially life-saving information.

Staring at the reflection of a regal but exhausted black-haired, green-eyed girl of barely average height in the mirror the Room of Requirement had provided, Iris wondered if this was going to work. She had partial evidence to support it but had never read of it being done before. What else was left but trial and error? Erecting a Shield Charm around the mirror, she raised her disguised Holly and Phoenix Feather wand at it.

 _"Legilimens!"_


	27. A perfect opposition

**Might need to update story rating to 'M' soon. BTW, anyone else has the traffic stats and publishing tabs throwing up errors or being out of date? The first time I tried to post this tonight it did not go through.**

 **A/N: Bellatrix is definitely not good in this story. Dippet's age might have been a joke - but he might have also done things in his early life that he regreted, such as using the Regeneration Potion. Also, we don't know the limits of wizardkind's slow aging for a strong enough wizard. Dumbledore was as fast and spry as a muggle in his late forties despite being 115 years old, and Eloize Mintumble didn't outright turn to dust after aging five centuries, though she died later. Ageing Potion doesn't last very long and how much you age depends on the dose. To remain older for prolonged periods, Iris would have to brew and drink it daily, which would be tedious and suspicious. Voldemort (probably) wanted to get rid of the whole Black family because it was a force for stability and authority that wasn't his. Since they already had problems with inbreeding, his attempts in this story were highly effective. Pollux died in 1990 in canon.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Voldemort never try to create more complications than a single Troll and an accident to distract Dumbledore and his allies? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter: it belongs to JK Rowling and I make no profit out of this story.**

 **...**

"Are you all right, Neville?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Why wouldn't I be?" The tall, blond Gryffindor said. Before coming to Hogwarts, he'd worried for years he'd be proven a squib and cast out of the family in disgrace. Gran had been... a bit scary, truth be told, especially when she was his Dad's wand didn't work well for him. His troubles with Potions and Transfiguration were not as bad as he'd feared, not really, but every time he messed something up the old nightmares returned. That Professors Snape and McGonagal were the strictest in the school didn't help much. But now... glimmers of confidence appeared more and more often, helped by a new wand that almost eagerly responded to what spells he tried.

"It's the Black girl... Iris." The bushy-haired, pushy young witch scowled a bit. "I have to know. Is she pushing you too hard?"

"It's OK, Hermione." He assured her. _She_ had to know? Neville could see why Ron avoided the girl during many of her study sessions. "It's good to have someone believe in me for a change."

"I guess..." She set aside a completed essay and picked up what looked like an older Transfiguration textbook, its cover worn with age, its title barely legible. "So what are you studying?"

"The Floo plant, actually." He eagerly pointed at the animated illustration in the Herbology tome he'd been reading, which showed Floo growing from a seedling to full size as the seasons passed. "Did you know that the recipe to Floo powder has been kept a secret from most of the population for centuries? I wonder how the producers managed that... is Floo powder really so hard to make that no Herbology Master apart from those in the know has repeated the discovery?"

"Fascinating." Hermione said, and the two of them sat down to study for the foreseeable future.

 **...**

Draco Malfoy considered writing to his father about the latest developments in Slytherin and the school, but decided against it. Dealing with Weasley and his Slug-vomiting Curse was something his father would insist he do on his own to maintain the honor of the House if nothing else. As for cousin Iris, her views were unusual but followed the Black family's time-honored traditions perfectly, now that he thought about it. Despite being as Dark and Pure as it was possible to be, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had not followed the Dark Lord either, except for two members of the youngest generation. Maybe that had been why his mother had not taken the Dark Mark in the war like his father had; a family tradition of independence.

He wondered about the purpose of the Dueling Club and his cousin's dealings with mudbloods, and blood-traitors, and bloody Gryffindors. Ever since their first meeting in that Pureblood gathering years ago, he'd resented the Black heiress' power and authority over their peers, the power and authority that should have been rightfully his. Pretending to be a good little follower didn't sit well with him, and often his true thoughts came to the surface as had happened with Potter and Weasley and the frizzy-haired mudblood. But it was also what his father had suggested for dealing with... how did he put it... ah! A superior opponent. Against someone more personally powerful, his father had advised, it was better to see whether that power was accompanied by intelligence and if it was not... Well, a wand was as powerful as it was mindless and it did what the hand that held it commanded. People were the same, his father said, and telling strong but blunt and stupid guys what to do Draco had done for years.

But first, Weasley would get what he deserved. Where had that idiot learned how to do the Slug-Vomiting Curse anyway? Draco couldn't see his muggle-loving idiot of a father or his fat, uncouth, stay-at-home mother knowing any Dark spells. No matter... his cousin's Dueling Club would help Draco in carrying out his revenge. The red-haired brat was too stupid to learn; even the mudblood knew that. Draco would be practicing the Shield Charm while he lazed around and as soon as he'd found out an appropriately nasty offense, Weasley would be toast.

Hmm... Hadn't Professor Snape mentioned a snake-conjuring spell in one of their tutoring sessions over the summer?

 **...**

Late in one early , far later than any of the Prefects or Professors usually patrolled, an anemically thin, robed figure stole out of the Professors' quarters in the upper floors and slithered towards the dungeons. With his Master's presence growing heavier and heavier to bear, Quirrel knew he'd soon need to start drinking unicorn blood to survive. After so many months, only the successful theft of the Stone could fully repair the aftereffects of possession on his body while giving his Master an entirely new form. But both the unicorns and the Stone would have to wait, for another task had been set before him.

The former Muggle Studies Professor creeped deeper and deeper into the gloom, corridor after corridor left behind as he entered the Unplottable depths of the castle that few had ever explored. It was here in one of the many hidden rooms that his Master had instructed him in the creation of another distraction for that fool, Dumbledore. Hands shaking now, Quirrel unsealed the hidden door, waited for the heavy stone barrier to ponderously swing open, and stepped in with trepidation as warm air that carried a fetid, rotting stench washed over him. His boots squelched as he stepped into several inches of thick mud. Darkness, humidity, and rot made his every breath a fight to keep what measly dinner he'd had hours earlier, and the eyeless stares from all around him almost made him run for it.

But he didn't. Instead he retrieved a large satchel from the folds of his robes, and from the magically expanded interior he retrieved the required... ingredients. A half-dozen sleeping forms he levitated out of it, each one snoring heavily and contendedly, having no idea of their imminent fate. He opened their mouths and, careful not to choke them, had them drink the bluish concoction his Master had helped him brew. That done, he drew his wand and performed the penultimate step in this greasly affair.

 _"Imperio! Imperio! Imperio! Imperio! Imperio! Imperio!"_

In their condition and with what Quirrel had just fed them, his victims could never have resisted even his weak Imperius Curse. They'd have remained under his control even after they rose from their slumber, his to command until he chose to release them. But it was not to be.

"Come forth."

At his command, the eyeless, limbless, almost formless monsters waiting in the darkness glided forth, all but indistinguishable against the lightless background. His Master had controlled fearsome creatures of darkness one; trolls and vampires, dementors and hags, inferi... even a dragon or two. Such creatures would obey a sufficiently strong dark wizard for they were natural allies to those that practiced the darkest arts. Unfortunately Quirrel, even with his Master to help him, only had enough command over them to ensure his survival. Even using the Imperius Curse would have gotten him nowhere, for despite the Unforgivables' ability to overcome magical resistances and defenses, Quirrel, like most wizards, was not strong enough to force it on such beings. Thanks to his Master's brilliance however, he didn't have to.

What seemed like folds of sheer darkness embraced the slumbering victims, enveloping them entirely within moments. They did not complain as the darkness begun to fold on itself, squeezing tighter and tighter even as it grew thicker. In minutes, Quirrel could no longer hear the... ingredients' snoring and no trace of them had been left... except for one. Quirrel's link to the Imperius curses he'd cast had not been broken. When the... things in the darkness had consumed their food and added it to themselves, they'd also taken in the Imperius. Sluggishly, they vanished back into the darker corners of the hot, humid, underground chamber.

As he felt his Master's face smile widely, Quirrel beat a hasty retreat. He had no desire to remain and observe as the things begun to breed.

 **...**

The old witch was running through the narrow, crooked, filthy street as fast as her thin, arthritic legs could manage. She'd lost her wand several minutes and a few dozen turns ago and had never managed to apparate without it. She'd even been forced to drop her beloved disk bearing her great and well cared-for collection due to exhaustion and a burning need to stay ahead of her pursuer. Oh, her nails. Her poor nails. Her dear children! She remembered how she'd lovingly torn them from their callous, careless owners as they screamed, saving them from a life of torment, being cut and cut and cut when all they'd wanted was to grow as they were meant to do. What would they do after she was gone, she wondered. For mad she might be, old she might be, the arthritic witch was no fool.

Some unseen terror had been plaguing the denizens of Knockturn Alley for months now. It targeted the weak, the infirm, the elderly; those too weak to defend themselves among other criminals but normally too useful to be rendered for ingredients by the likes of Mister Borgin and his friends. Those people, her people, had been vanishing all those months in ones and twos, whispers of a specter of Death taking them during the night, pale and ancient and horrible as it stalked the darkest corners.

Rubbish, of course. Her attacker was almost certainly a man. Pale he was, thin he was, full of black spots like a plague victim and almost as grey as a corpse, but certainly a man. Her alarm spells had told her as much; the little magic she could still do a decade after being cursed and banished from her House, she prided herself at doing right. The shadows and fear wrapped around the murderer were just spells to spook his quarry, catch them unawares and scare them too much to fight back... not that it made them any less effective.

In the end, the old witch could run no longer. She stood there, pride overcoming terror in those last moments as her stalker stepped out of the darkness. The figure was more horrible than she'd expected, almost as emaciated and stiff as the Inferi she'd made for Grindelwald in her youth. It had the same wide, glowing eyes, shining yellow with hunger for something perverse, something... human. She could not tell whether it was male or female, only that once it had been either one or the other.

 _"I require your services."_ It rasped hollowly, creaking as its steps ate the distance between them with surprising speed.

"And what does a dead thing want of an old witch like me?"

 _"Your blood, your flesh, your mind, your life."_ Its mouth gaped wide in anticipation. _"So that a dead thing can live once again. And when it does, to know enough for its revenge."_ And it gripped her forearms with inhuman strength, that gaping mouth settling upon her lips in a grotesque parody of a kiss. The old witch knew what was going on, had learned when Grindelwald sought to conquer Europe by ritually raising four million corpses. The life transference hurt more than cuts, more than fire, more than the Cruciatus, but she knew it would only be passing. This version was a pale imitation of what Dementors could do, available to those who'd ritually performed a certain gruesome sacrifice. Like vampires and hags, they stole from the living to add to themselves, the parody of a kiss their version of drinking blood or eating raw flesh. As her limbs thinned and shriveled away, she lamented that she wouldn't be around to satisfy her curiosity. She was only the ninth victim and twelve were needed to finish the ancient ritual and accomplish what the caster needed all that extra power and life to do.

Half an hour later, one of the other nocturnal denizens of Knockturn Alley found the ash-coated rags and bleached bones the attacker had left behind and word went out that another of the useless dregs among them had bit the dust. Passersby shrugged at the news and went on their way. Mister Borgin came by and gathered the bones; remains of a ritually murdered witch who'd also been a murderer were rare and had several uses. The Aurors were never notified and no-one outside the permanent denizens of Knockturn Alley became aware of the deaths...


	28. A perfect victory

**Harry and Iris together? You guys will have to convince her this wouldn't be some sort of messed-up, Paradox-enabled incest. Or cradle-robbing; Iris still thinks herself as nearly four decades older or at least more mature than Harry, despite evidence to the contrary. Besides, they are both preteens! As for magic vs logic, magic wins hands down. Just try to apply logic on the canon time-turner (for the gaping flaws in its supposed internal consistency, see other story).**

 **Disclaimer: Did Riddle, who could wandlessly control and hurt people or move objects at age ten, ever try such magic on Harry to avoid the brother wands issue? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **...**

Harry's second ever official Quidditch match was a welcome break from his ever-increasing homework load, Hermione hounding all the Gryffindor first-years into studying more, the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone, and Iris' unofficial dueling club. The last two especially had him, Ron, and Neville falling exhausted to their beds every night after long sessions of spell practice or hours of fruitless search into why such a powerful artifact had been hidden in the school and who wanted to steal it. Harry's luck being what it was, his heightened spirits lasted only until Wood worked up enough steam to roll over the entire team in his mounting Quidditch fanaticism.

"Come on Wood, this is too much." Angelina Johnson said during one of Wood's rare pauses for air. "' _Catch the Snitch or die trying?'_ Even if Harry weren't a first year, I'd never seriously tell him something like that." The rest of the Gryffindor team nodded mutinously, finally fed up with their Captain's antics. Their practices had become veritable nightmares, especially after Slytherin beat Ravenclaw with an unprecedented margin of over six hundred points. Wood's extremes were sucking the fun right out of Quidditch lately, and that was something none of them wanted.

"Too much, is it?" The tall, burly Keeper said, about to explode if his red face was any indication. "Is that what you'll be saying if Slytherin wins the Cup, then?"

"It's... it's just the points system." Harry finally spoke up despite that drawing everybody's attention to him, making him uncomfortable. "We beat Slytherin in a game, right? We're better than them. They're just exploiting the system like they always do." He'd been thinking about that for some time now, ever since his and Iris' last talk. His cousin had insisted the House points system and the Quidditch Cup were seriously flawed, and Harry had not believed her. That had been before Slytherin's latest match and Harry's suspicion that the outcome had all been Iris' fault. He'd seen her ignore several opportunities to catch the Snitch during it, after all.

"You're right, Potter. They are exploiting the system!" Wood said with such a fierce scowl that Harry hastily took a step back. "That's why we need to do our best; we need to show them that Gryffindor talent and daring will always beat the foul tricks they use to make up for their ineptitude!" he finished, voice raised to a thunderous roar. For once however, Harry wasn't so sure. Playing the system or not, it took skill to not only prevent the other team from ending the game, but also beat them so thoroughly in the six-hour-long game. He wondered what his opinion would have been if he'd lacked any ties to Slytherins. Would he have been swayed by Wood's fanaticism and blindly joined in the standard House rivalry without Iris' warnings about all the prejudices?

"...so let's go crush them!" Wood was saying, and despite their initial reluctance the other Gryffindors seemed once more eager to fight for a victory over the Snakes... even if today's game was over Hufflepuff, not Slytherin. Frowning at his Housemates intense animosity towards the House his cousin and first friend had been sorted into, Harry followed them into the pitch.

 **...**

And there went Potter, flying across the stadium in seconds on his Nimbus. Much as he hated the brat, he had to admit he was a great flyer for his age. Almost as great as the Black girl who'd inadvertedly blocked his efforts against the Boy-Who-Cheated-Death. Not to worry, not to worry, his Master had assured him she'd die in the fullness of time, along with the rest of her cursed family. For the moment, he had to focus on bringing about Potter's demise.

As his Master had instructed him, he focused his hatred and anger for the boy in preparation of what he was about to do. Curiously, the Dark Lord had a strange aversion to using or even teaching wandless magic. Despite all he could do with it, far more than Quirrel ever would, he was so much more focused on wielding magic through a wand. Why... no. It was not his place to question. Besides, he would hardly need his Master's aid for the next step. The Potter brat's broom was the newest, most strongly charmed and well-made magical item in the pitch. Quirrel's latest target was not, something that would help him avoid suspicion even with Snape keeping an eye on him. Smile widening, the once weak and deluded ex Muggle Studies Professor whispered a single Latin word.

 _"Oppugno!"_

 **...**

Harry had just seen the Snitch near the center of the Quidditch pitch, only twenty feet behind an oblivious Madam Hootch, when one of the Bludgers almost took his head off. Rolling aside at the last moment he narrowly dodged the foot-wide iron projectile, suddenly feeling very grateful toward's Wood's long hours of harsh practice and Iris' Dueling Club. Without having been pressed to his limits repeatedly, he'd never have developed the reflexes that had just saved him from decapitation.

"OK there, Harry?" Fred or George Weasley said as he batted the bludger towards a charging Gabriel Truman, the Hufflepuff Captain and Chaser, trying to force him to drop the Quaffle. Unfortunately, the Bludger flew off-course in midair, turning back towards Harry! He swerved wildly to avoid the unexpected attack... and almost fell onto the second bludger who'd also started to follow him around.

"Bloody Hell!" Harry agreed wholeheartedly with the other Weasley Twin's exclamation but unlike the redheads, he had no Beater's bat. Dodging was all he could do. He'd not even brought his wand to the pitch, since casting spells on the brooms, balls, or players was forbidden. "Hold on a minute longer, Harry. We'll deal with this." With amazing coordination, the Weasley Twins batted both bludgers aside at nearly the same time, followed them, then hit them again. The heavy, self-propelling iron spheres flew towards the trio of Hufflepuff Chasers but after a second or two turned sharply, Harry once again their target.

This was not his day.

 **...**

"Blimey, he barely managed to dodge that one!" Ron said uneasily, as he, Neville, and Hermione watched their friend flying around the Quidditch field, Bludgers in pursuit. They weren't the only ones; several other Gryffindors were already murmuring angrily about 'sabotage', and 'unfair', and 'slimy Snakes', and fans in the other Houses' stands were beginning to notice as well.

"You... you don't think the Bludgers are c-cursed, do you?" Neville said, thinking about all the curses they'd discussed in the Dueling Club.

"I don't know..." Hermione said uncertainly then jumped as Harry managed yet one more narrow escape. "Even if someone's cursing them we wouldn't know who... oh, what wouldn't I give for Hagrid's binoculars now!" The gentle giant had come to see Harry's first game, but wasn't around this time.

"Couldn't you do some sort of spell to, I dunno, find the bad guy or something?" Ron asked Hermione frantically as one of the bludgers clipped the tail of Harry's Nimbus and nearly sent him tumbling.

"There isn't a spell to find bad guys, Ronald!" Hermione said testily. "At least not one I know of."

"Then what use are you?" The redhead spat rudely, now trying to look for suspicious-looking Slytherins with his unaided eyes.

"We're first-years. We can't know everything about magic!" Hermione said defensively. Didn't the idiot boy realize just how hurtful what he said was? "I mean, the most complex spells we learned are just basic Transfiguration..." The smart witch's voice trailed off. Transfiguration! That was it!

 _"Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!"_

With careful application of the Severing Charm, she cut a foot-long piece of wood out of the Gryffindor stands, then sliced pieces off either end. Drawing on all the Tranfiguration theory she'd studied, all the chapters of their textbook she'd read ahead of time, she performed two improvised, painstakingly slow, wood-to-glass Transfigurations. After that she performed a much easier but still complex for their level wood to metal transfiguration... and as soon as she put the three pieces together she had a crude but functional spyglass. Ignoring her sudden mental exhaustion, she used it to scan the faculty's and visitors' stands, certain no student was capable of turning the Bludgers against Harry without at least being obvious about it.

"Oh no! Professor Snape!" She said pointing out at a cluster of Professors. "He's murmuring something under his breath and has his eyes fixed on Harry!"

"That slimy git! I'll murder him!" Ron growled and for once Hermione had nothing to say against it.

"What will we do?" Neville said, suddenly fearful. He had no trouble believing the foul Potions Master was behind Harry's predicament.

"Leave it to me." Ron said with a nasty gleam in his eyes.

 **...**

"Potter's in trouble." Lillian said thoughtfully, looking from Iris to the Gryffindor Seeker. "You two didn't have a lover's spat resulting in his being cursed, did you?"

"Why Moon," Pansy said with a smirk. "If I didn't know better I might think you were jealous."

Iris ignored the banter between the other two Slytherin girls, eyes narrowed in both calculation and anger. This had not happened to her in the previous timeline. Or rather, Dobby had done something similar... but in her second year, when he was trying to get her removed from Hogwarts. Had her prevention of Harry's broom being cursed in their first match against each other resulted in such a change in Quirrel's plans, or was this another result of Paradox? For it was Quirrel doing it, no question about that; Iris might still be well below Dumbledore's level in revealing and remote viewing spells, but a silent Supersensory Charm was still within her abilities. She'd seen Quirrel throw that Offensive Animation Jinx. The problem was how to respond.

Fighting Quirrel's curse directly would mean overpowering it and with Voldemort potentially backing him she couldn't do that wandlessly. Worse, wand or no any direct effect would be visible, with few exceptions. Blowing her cover as a not-so-innocent first year would have to be a last resort. On the other hand, she didn't need to overpower the spell on the Bludgers at all. If she timed it correctly...

"Confundo... Confundo... Confundo..."

Most spells and effects that were part of the Mind Arts had no visual cues that might warn a potential victim. Some of them worked not on just minds, but also on the intent imparted to enchanted objects or magical constructs by their creator. The Cunfundus Spell happened to belong in both categoties. Iris didn't need to break Voldemort's command on the Bludgers to attack Harry. She only needed to trick their rudimentary threat assessment that Voldemort's current host was Harry, then sit back and enjoy the festivities.

 **...**

Ron scrambled beneath the Quidditch stands, going through maintenance passages and around a veritable forest of iron supports. Only countless hide-and-seek games with his brothers when he was little helped him navigate the labyrinthine place and avoid getting lost more than once... OK twice. But who was counting? In the end, he managed to reach the Professors' position with time to spare if the increasingly frantic commentary from Lee Jordan was any indication. Harry was still flying and Ron, now only a couple dozen feet from Snape's position, would ensure he'd continue to do so.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

With a whispered incantation, Ron levitated two of the Twins' special packages towards Snape and into his pocket. That done and with only seconds to spare, he ran away as fast as he could. In less than a count of ten, the packages exploded...

 **...**

Aah, Quidditch had finally become enjoyable, Quirrel thought. What was better than watching Potter fly around like a Crucio'd lemming, doing eveything he could to avoid being beaten into a pulp by his bludgers? Seeing Potter's premature and violent death of course; sooner or later he'd tire, or do a mistake. A few more minutes and...

BOOM!

One of Severus Snape's pockets exploded, brown sticky debris funneled upwards by its shape. Detonating in an enclosed space, the Dungbomb had a single opening through which it could send its foul, smelly payload; upwards. It just so happened that Snape's head and torso also were in that direction. The results were predictable, and rather messy.

BOOM!

Snape's other pocket exploded as the firework inside it lit up, dancing flames spreading over the fabric at an alarming rate. A messy, foul-faced and utterly furious Severus Snape jumped off his seat, drew his wand and took a threatening step towards Quirrel. The younger Defense Professor couldn't help it; he laughed. He was still laughing when the first Bludger slammed into his leg.

 **...**

Ten seconds before the match could be stopped and/or cancelled, Harry Potter caught the Snitch, sending the Gryffindors into a frenzy.


	29. A perfect tantrum

**Prejudice, personal preference, emotion; they're all illogical to an extent. Wizards changing reality by willing it and magic getting stronger with emotion mean such issues only become worse with wizards. That still doesn't excuse discrimination, because there's always a choice. You get to see Quirrel next chapter. As for ships, there won't be one before fourth year. That's when the Drumstang delegation arrives, isn't it? :)**

 **Disclaimer: Did Harry cast powerful magic on his first try knowing just the incantation and sometimes the intended effect, yet had problems casting the spells in the standard curriculum after days or weeks of study? If yes I do not own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx**

"Anger and fear only cloud the mind, Severus." Dumbledore said in his infuriatingly calm voice. "Calm down and think this through."

"Calm down?" Severus Snape hissed, wanting to break that long nose, punch those tauntingly gleaming eyes red, beat the emotionless, heartless bastard to the ground. At least the Dark Lord was somewhat human, in his ire and almost childish desire to see his enemies suffer, not this unnaturally calm old fool. "I warned you, Dumbledore! You just chose to ignore it!" With a mighty mental effort, he refrained from having another outburst like the one that had broken several of Dumbledore's ostentatious office decorations. "What if Quirrel's attack on me had succeeded? Worse still, what if the boy had been killed?"

"We had only suspicion and no proof, Severus." The ancient wizard said placatingly. "Even my careful observations failed to reveal Quirrel's endgame or if, indeed, he had one. Even if he had been responsible for the dark magic in the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, he did not target Harry at all. And in this match, we cannot be certain of either his actions or his intentions." The Headmaster sighed and pinched his nose, expression thoughtful as he sucked on one of his accursed lemon drops. "To act in dangerous situations without adequate information, without some control of events, it is to invite disaster as I am sure you remember."

"And doing nothing isn't?" Snape spat back, his usually limp black hair standing up as if by static while his magic rose along with his temper. Oh yes, he remembered the... situation Dumbledore referred to. It had been the greatest mistake of his life. A single decision, a few words in the wrong ear, and the one person in his whole miserable life who'd ever been his friend had been horribly murdered. That did not mean he was wrong, damnit! Besides, he was sure Dumbledore had other reasons to look so unconcerned. Speaking of which...

"It's because Quirrel went after the Black girl last time, wasn't it?" Snape growled. "The high and mighty Albus Dumbledore is a symbol for the Light. Why should he care about the scion of a Dark family? After all, he hardly cares about one of the four Houses of Hogwarts..."

"That's quite enough, Severus." The Headmaster ordered firmly, his eyes having lost their playful twinkle. "It is obvious you are quite upset after the recent events, your judgement less sharp and clear than normal since the last Quidditch match. Dungbombs and fireworks do not Voldemort's weapons make; there is more at work here than we've already uncovered and until we learn more we cannot show our hand."

"Right, because that's so..."

"Severus, be reasonable." Dumbledore cut him off. "Quirrel is certainly guilty of something, and steps are being taken to negate his potential actions, but tantrums have nothing beneficial to add to such efforts." The two wizards, one old and calm, the other young and furious, stared at each other for a few moments. "Please return to your quarters for a good night's sleep. Destroying my possessions might be mometarily satisfying but is hardly restful. I daresay I have too many but your need for recovery is more important than your desire to break things."

 **xxxx**

The party in the Gryffindor common room had been loud, wild, and had involved far too many people for Harry's liking. Being best friends with Iris and Ron, and quite friendly with Hermione and Neville, he was comfortable with. Dealing with more people, with his fame? That he'd rather avoid. So he'd escaped the Gryffindor common room as soon as he'd been able to, and retreated to his bed. A bit of quiet and some light reading before calling it a night would be a good ending to a good day, he'd decided. Which only showed how short-sighted he was not to enjoy the fun parts of life to their fullest. Maybe then the less fun parts wouldn't be so bad.

"Explain this to me, Black." Pansy Parkinson growled. "Why do I need to show spells to Weasley and Granger?" It had been Iris' least popular suggestion to date, Harry reluctantly agreed with the Slytherin girl. Pansy's reaction might have been the loudest, but it had nothing on Hermione's on sheer venom. If looks could kill, his cousin would have been blasted to bits by the bushy-haired girl's death-glare.

"Iris, you know lots of spells." He interjected reasonably if hastily before a fight broke out. "Why don't you teach us?"

"Because I enjoy living, Harry." The Slytherin queen said testily. "There is a rather nasty curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

"Really, Black?" Malfoy said with a snort. "If you want us to do the work so you can slack off, you must find a better excuse than that rumor."

"Rumor, is it?" Unlike Malfoy, Harry recognized the danger in Iris' deceptively mild tone, the angry gleam in those emerald eyes so much like his own. "Three and a half decades of Defense Professors never lasting more than a year and often meeting a premature and violent end, Malfoy. A situation that started fifteen years, over two full student rotations, before the first rise of the Dark Lord in Britain. Fifteen years are also the average duration of an Auror's or Hit-Wizard's career as rank-and-file field agent before either early retirement or, more rarely, promotion into Senior Auror."

"Voldemort cursed the DADA position?" Harry asked, ignoring the gasps and hisses at his use of that name. "How? Why?"

"It... makes perfect sense, actually." Hermione agreed with Iris, a rare occurence these days. "Cripple the skills of any opposition before your campaign to take over. Also explains why Headmaster Dumbledore couldn't do anything about it." The Gryffindor Know-It-All shot everyone nervous and angry looks. "Oh, how will we learn proper Defense now? Quirrel is nearly useless!"

"By each of us researching a few of these spells ourselves and showing everybody else." Iris said pointing at the blackboard on the far wall of their secret meeting room. Harry glanced at it, more curious than apprehensive now that his cousin's reasoning had been explained. A list of incantations had been written on it, presumably by Iris herself since it had been waiting for them when they arrived. Harry didn't recognize every spell in it, but several of them he'd seen in their duels.

 _Accio, Avis, Cave Inimicum, Depulso, Diffindo, Episkey, Fumos, Finite, Incendio, Protego, Reducto, Serpentsortia, Slugulus Eructo, Stupefy, Torpeo_

"Why these spells in particular?" Harry asked. "I mean, I don't even recognize half of them. Aren't they too advanced for us?" A dark eyebrow arched higher over a green eye and Harry felt himself blushing. How did his cousin manage to so easily make him feel both like an uneducated lout and ashamed for not trying harder?

"People are either magical or they aren't, Harry. Success in any spell is then a matter of knowledge, will, emotion, and practice." She sighed at his hesitation. "You once Apparated via accidental magic so these spells shouldn't prove too challenging in comparison. As for why these particular fifteen spells, they're useful in a great variety of situations without being too complex."

"You mean useful in fighting, right?" Hermione sniffed, nose upturned and her usual superior attitude in full force. "Life isn't just about fighting, you know. Knowing some basic protection is one thing. Failing our other classes because we only studied for Defense is another."

"You've grown predictable, Granger." Iris said with a smirk, then turned to Malfoy. "Draco, didn't Weasley make you vomit slugs last week?"

"Shut up, Black!" Malfoy spat back to nobody's surprise, pale cheeks tinted pink.

" _Slugulus Eructo_ is not a simple curse. Since slugs don't normally grow inside people, it must have some rather advanced Transfiguration elements to make them." Iris eyed Ron appraisingly for a moment. "Congratulations for accomplishing Fifth Year magic according to the Hogwarts curriculum, Weasley."

"It was Conjuration?!" Hermione blurted in both excitement and incredulity. Harry was surprised too; if Iris was right (and she probably was), Ron had managed some really advanced magic. More advanced than anything Hermione had done at least, which explained the girl's reaction.

"Yes." Iris confirmed. "That list is meant to help people practice a wide variety of subjects; Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, Curses, Counterspells, Healing, Mind Magic; there are at least two spells from each subject in it."

All arguments countered for the time being, Hogwarts' unofficial (and illegal) Dueling Club went to work. His cousins assurances aside, Harry was certain learning spells on their own was not going to be as easy as everyone thought.

 **xxxx**

The end of February marked the end of the preparation phase and the beginning of Iris' experiment with the Dueling Challenge. The time-traveler had it on good authority that most of the list of spells she'd asked the others to research and learn was within a second-year's capabilities. The Slug-Vomiting Spell was probably the most power-intensive and Ron had managed it well enough in the aborted timeline, Draco Malfoy had cast Serpentsortia in Lockhart's club, and Dennis Creevey had managed the Reductor Curse as a second year in Dumbledore's Army. The Black Heiress wanted to see how much her new friends could manage in their first year if pushed; with a second war coming in only a few years, they needed all the advantages she could give them.

But Dueling practices with the other students was far from the only thing on her mind. The books in the Room of Requirement had revealed a few problems, or rather shown her how big some of her old problems really were. Despite all the esoteric knowledge and lore she'd gathered over the years, and personal experiences with obscure magic such as Horcruxes, the Hallows, wand-making, or blood magic, the theoretical, often arithmancy-heavy despriptions of spells in the more advanced tomes and manuals were beyond her. She found it easier to simply speak the incantation and do the wand motions and will a spell to work, than studying the theory and then try to cast with all that complicated descriptions in her mind. _Sectumsempra,_ the first spell she'd cast like that back as a sixth-year student, had worked for her without her even knowing what it was meant to do, nevermind about it having a balanced 4-12 Arithmancy (whatever that meant), or what the incantantion actually said in Latin. Many of the strongest spells she'd known in her old life she'd learned similarly, which posed an enormous problem now that she had to study from books again.

With a frustrated growl, she slammed a heavy tome on ritual magic shut, then threw her Holly-and-Phoenix-Feather on the ground. With a bit of mental effort, she lifted it in the air and held it chest-high some twenty feet away. Since learning new spells had hit this little snag, it was time to try something different for a change. Besides, it was time for some stress relief.

 _Lumos!, Nox!, Protego!, Reducto!, Protego Totalum!, Confrigo!, Protego Maxima!, Portus!, Salvio Hexia!, Donar!, Expecto Patronum!_

Despite not being in her hand, her wand lit then extinguished itself, raised a basic shield then disintegrated it, raised an intermediate shield then blasted it apart, raised a greater shield and pierced it by forcing a portkey-making charm through, raised an area defensive enchantment and overwhelmed it with bolts of lightning, and spewed some faint silver mist. Not bad for something discovered by accident by a desperate fifteen-year-old, then used as a trick to wow Auror cadets, though unlike her last few tests in the old timeline, the Patronus had not worked. Casting spells with a wand you weren't holding was similar to but far less difficult than entirely wandless magic. Casting with a broken wand like Hagrid had done was harder than remote casting, and both could be used to ease someone into wandless casting by bridging the rather enormous difficulty gap.

Iris still had a long way to go before recovering her old skills fully, probably years. That wasn't the only reason for trying those old tricks though. With a bit of focus, the Room of Requirement shifted an old, half-burned wooden desk into existence - or rather brought it in from the Room of Hidden Things. The desk wasn't of much interest to Iris... but the dozens of old wands on it were. Worn wands, cracked wands, good wands that were lost and never found, wands discarded for being mismatched with their wielders, stolen wands, wands used for dark magic and then hidden. Most of them would not be a good match for Iris to begin with, and she'd not won their allegiance from their original masters; exactly what she needed. For there was a question that needed an answer.

If remote casting and casting with another's wand were both possible, was it possible to cast remotely with another's wand?


	30. A perfect question

**Problems with reviews are continuing. Anybody know if a way to still see them? Until then, use private messages to make sure they aren't lost.**

 **Voldemort had four and a half decades of magical experience by the time he was forcibly disembodied, and had devised at least a dozen spells that we know of, at least one very powerful potion, had pioneered the permanent enchantment of humans rather than objects, had made his first Horcrux at the age of sixteen, and was capable of unsupported, _wandless_ flight. Don't worry about him being a pushover.**

 **Disclaimer: Is Ron's birthday mentioned at all in the first few books? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun, not profit.**

 **xxxx**

As February turned into March, the heavy snow cover that had covered the castle grounds since late November begun to melt. The weather turned windy, chilly, and far too wet, and the thick layer of mud that had formed as a result threatened to swallow the first years whole several times a week - twice per Herbology lesson, to be exact. Harry and Ron often had to avoid the caretaker, Mr. Filch, as being caught leaving a trail of mud and rainwater in their wake would have meant a hour-long session of not so veiled threats by the chronically misanthropic old squib, followed by detention. On one hand, Harry could see why Mr. Filch would be angry; being forced to clean up after students day in and day out, year after year, with no magic of his own to help... it would be about as bad as Harry's chores with the Dursleys had been before Iris' intervention, and could turn anyone bitter. On the other hand, it wasn't as if Harry and his friends were doing it deliberately; being threatened with whipping, caning, or hanging was a bit extreme for something they couldn't help doing.

"Iris if Mr. Filch is a squib, why does he work in Hogwarts?" he asked his cousin as he, Ron, and Neville followed her around. The Black Heiress knew Hogwarts like the back of her hand and was usually willing to show them new routes and shortcuts if they didn't annoy her too much. In addition, their trail of mud and water tended to inexplicably vanish when they were with her.

"Headmaster Dumbledore's generosity, probably." She responded absentmindedly, leafing through their Herbology textbook. "Though I question how generous it really is to keep him here, where the students will always remind him of what he can never have... Say, Neville!" Hearing his name all of a sudden, the boy in question flinched momentarily, then calmed down when a Professor didn't suddenly materialize out of thin air. Sometimes, Iris' manners struck Harry as just as mature and confident as McGonagal's.

"Y-yes?" The blond Gryffindor asked hesitantly.

"Do magical plants survive Transfigurations intact?" The seldom-used passage she was leading them through took a sharp right turn at that point, becoming little more than a narrow corridor and forcing them into a single file as it somehow descended from the Charms corridor on the third floor to the Gryffindor tower entrance on the seventh. Despite all this, the Black girl's eyes did not leave the Herbology tome.

"M-most of them." Neville answered her question after thinking this through. "Why? I don't remember Professor Sprout mentioning Transfiguration once during her lectures." _Fortunately_ , Neville added under his breath with only Harry within hearing distance. Even with his new friends encouraging him, the timid boy did not yet have enough confidence to do well in McGonagal's lesson - unlike Harry who had improved by leaps and bounds under Iris' and Hermione's tutelage... and nagging.

"Oh, I was just curious." She shrugged. "They'd be so much easier to carry if you could turn them into Knuts and put them in your pocket."

"Yeah, that'd be nice..." Neville agreed, deep in thought now. "Those Molies Professor Sprout showed us could defeat dark enchantments if you ate them but they're found mostly in the wild. If you Transfigured them and took them with you though..." He paused as if realizing something. "Iris, could you teach me? Transfiguration, I mean?"

For some reason, the gleam in Neville's eyes convinced Harry his friend would soon grow beyond the hopeless near-squib he used to be in McGonagal's class.

 **xxxx**

"Whoa! Harry, mate, you got to see this!" Ron exclaimed in the early hours of the morning of the 1st of March. For once having woken up as early as Harry often did for Quidditch practices, the tall, gangly redhead had found something he did not expect; a pile of presents. It might have been his birthday, sure, but the Weasley family could rarely afford to send gifts to all of their seven children in addition to those sent for Christmas, so except for a couple of cards and maybe a sweater or two from his mum he had not expected much. Certainly not the really cool amulet with the golden lion of Gryffindor he'd been sent.

"Nice necklace." Harry said with a yawn. "Who sent it to you, mate?"

"Dunno. Lemme check." Ripping into his gift's neat packaging with abandon, Ron found a rather long note written in elegant, neat letters in dark green ink. "It's from Iris! And... blimey, Harry. Could you wear your cloak for a minute?" Harry decided to humor his best mate's weird request and when he'd faded from sight, Ron gasped, then stared at the little golden lion amulet with amazement.

"It... it must have some sort of Supersensory Charm on it!" He almost shouted in excitement. "I can hear your footsteps, your breaths, clear enough to know you're there. Bloody hell, I can _feel_ the room behind my back even though I can't see it, or hear things all the way to the girls' dormitories." Ron gave Harry a wide grin, quickly followed by a chuckle. "Hermione's right; Lavender does snore."

"Hermione's always right." Harry said automatically, not knowing what else to say. "Does it do anything else?"

"Yeah, it'll get warm if I'm in danger, vibrate if I'm being watched, and... oh." Ron's wide smile diminished a little.

"Problem?" Harry asked.

"It needs to be charged, like Dad's muggle toys." Ron frowned at the instructions on the letter. "I'll have to cast spells at it every day; as strong and as varied as I can manage till those little gems in the lion's mane all glow."

"Well it's still useful, isn't it?" Harry said with a small frown. He didn't know as much as Ron did about the wizarding world despite his cousin's efforts, but something about this gift seemed a bit odd to him. "I mean, listening in to people's conversations is great; we'd finally know how Fred and George are planning their pranks or what everyone's whispering about me after we turn our backs."

"Yeah, but it'll take work." Ron eyed the golden lion a bit critically. "Couldn't she have sent me something easier to use?"

"Dunno mate." Harry said quickly, hiding his suspicions from his best friend. An expensive and powerful gift that pushed Ron into working more? Yeah, he could definitely see Iris sending Ron something like that. "Oh look, you have more gifts!" He said, not wishing to share his suspicions. What Ron didn't know would help him.

"Yeah." Ron's smile widened and more torn wrapping flew. "This one's from Hermione. She sent me a bag of Chocolate Frogs and a study plan. Blimey, according to it revision should start at least ten weeks before exams!" Both boys chuckled and rolled her eyes at that. "And this one... unbelievable!"

"What is it?" Harry doubted anyone would have sent Ron something more impressive than Iris' golden lion amulet.

"It's... it's from Parkinson!" Ron visibly paled. "A bottle of deodorant with 'her sincerest wishes that I stop fouling up the Dueling room'." Harry laughed at his best mate's mortification and did his best not to blurt that the Slytherin girl had a point. Then another point suddenly dawned on him.

"Hey Ron. How come everyone's sending you gifts today?"

"It's... ah..." Ron's face turned as crimson as the gleaming ruby that was the golden lion's eye. "It's my birthday." He said, totally embarassed.

"Your... birthday?" Harry scowled. "How come you told Pansy of all people but not me?" He thought about it for a moment, then it struck him. "Is it because she's a girl? Come to think of it, they're all girls."

"NO!" Ron shouted, panicked and mortified. " I never told anyone but... Iris and Pansy are purebloods. They could have looked it up in a book. I mean... all purebloods are registered, you know."

"Huh." Harry said, his anger evaporating rapidly, only for a sudden desire to play a prank on Ron taking its place. "Why did the girls look you up in a book, you reckon? Could they be interested in you? Quick, search the rest of the gifts. Maybe there's one from that Moon girl, too." The high-pitched squeak that came from Ron then convinced Harry that his best friend would not forget to mention something as important as his birthday again. To Ron's brief relief, they didn't find a present from Lillian Moon. They did find one from Malfoy though, which soured both their moods. The accompanying letter pompously proclaimed that he was sending his good friend and cousin Weasley a strange and wondrous rare item that he was sure no Weasley had ever seen and would be highly valued in their House.

Wrapped up in multiple layers of fancy fabric and parchment was a single Galleon.

 **xxxx**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was in his office, as usual, while seemingly not present within... also as usual. He was currently using an artifact whose origins he'd once tracked to 6th century Scotland, well before the founding of Hogwarts. A long line of past Headmasters and Headmistresses had found said artifact of great use, both as a library of their predecessors' experiences and as a tool to review and better understand their own. While enjoying the privilege of being able to converse with the imprints of many great wizards of times past by means of their portraits, Dumbledore always believed personal experience would always trump secondhand accounts when it came to knowledge. Perhaps it was due to his being largely self-taught, or due to his own understanding of events often being superior to that of others, that he'd come to trust no judgement but his own when it came to making conclusions on which important decisions would be based. And thus he spent his hours with the Hogwarts Pensieve, an artifact those that knew of its existence often believed to be his own, rather than with friends or colleagues.

Magically obtained memories could and did show things the person in question had missed or misunderstood, and were not colored by belief, emotion, or interpretation. The mechanism for their extraction was more complex than the charm used would indicate, the information clearer and more detailed than most people could recall. For the true archive of a person's past went deeper than the physical imprint in their brains, as someone competent enough in memory retrieval could attest. After all, Dumbledore himself had retrieved true memories covered by false memory charms or outright erased from a person's mind. Unfortunately, such techniques helped little the victims of memory loss; their brain retained the modifications or damage blocking the memory's normal recall and forcing one's way through such impediments to make the victim remember risked further damage.

It was careful evaluation of Severus' memories of Harry's two Quidditch matches that had finally proved beyond doubt Quirinus' guilt. Dumbledore could read lips, after all, and the man's own had shown him the spells he'd cast. Not only that, but Severus' suspicions had been confirmed; in the first match it had been only Iris Black following Harry around closely for the entire match that had blocked Quirrel's line of effect... and had almost been killed for being in the way. Not something he'd share with anyone else for the time being. He had little doubt what Lord Black's reaction to an assault on his Heiress would be, and Quirinus was too valuable to the trap he was setting up for Voldemort to end up in Azkaban.

Hours-long attempts to find who'd managed to turn Quirrel's second trick against him had proven fruitless, if amusing. Ron Weasley's attack on poor Severus had been good for a laugh, and another piece of information he'd keep to himself; the youngest Weasley boy was only trying to help his friend and throwing him to Severus' tender mercies would serve no purpose. Dumbledore had at least managed to confirm none among the faculty were Quirinus attacker, but checking everyone else would take many days... and be potentially useless. The one weakness to this method of memory retrieval was its limitation to passive images and sounds. He could not check for the presence of invisible bystanders with magical or physical means as memories were not interactive.

On the other hand, he had a lot of new information to work with. The existence of a third, powerful, hidden player in their little game, for one thing. Quirinus' growing facility with wandless magic, for another. The Black girl's close relationship with Harry, and her strong resemblance to him becoming obvious after one paid closer attention. He'd have to improve the defenses around the Stone, though not for the Stone's protection... perhaps even abandon his original plan to involve Harry and his friends altogether if the danger proved too great. As for the hidden player, he still suspected the Blacks... but information from his allies in the Wizengamot and the Ministry had confirmed the location of all the surviving members of that family and none of them had been accounted for. The answer had to be hidden with those Blacks long since lost, specifically the Black girl's parents. Dorea Black and Charlus Potter had no surviving descendants that he knew of, their children lost along with them during the last War... and yet... something was missing. Perhaps he should retrieve a sample of the Black girl's blood for examination. Blood magic was dark, but could often shed light in the darkness as well. It wasn't as if he had not used it before, and this time he really needed answers to his many questions.

 **xxxx**

Quirinus Quirrel was seething in rage. After expending a great amount of effort to both heal his shattered legs and ensure he'd avoid any close examinations by either Madam Pomfrey or the old fool, he'd returned to his chambers and fallen asleep for the remainder of the weekend. Not only had someone foiled his plan to get rid of Potter, not only had they turned Dumbledore's suspicions on him by drawing attention to his actions, but they'd also forced him to dangerously speed up certain parts of his plans. Hosting his Master's glorious spirit and mind was significantly taxing, damaging his health over time. Using large amounts of magic could hasten the process, as his current predicament could attest.

He had to get to the unicorns early, and extract more blood than he'd planned for. Unfortunately, his magic was not strong enough to deceive the beasts into giving up some of their blood even with his Master's help, so he'd have to settle for the next best thing and kill them. Killing or even harming a unicorn would curse its blood but it couldn't be helped; he couldn't have the powerful sentient magical creature attack him, or go to someone else for help. But perhaps... why not... it could certainly work. By the time he was done, his efforts to obtain a dragon's egg would have borne fruit as well.

And after the plan succeeded it would be time to teach the old goat and the so-called Boy-Who-Lived a lesson they'd remember for the rest of their lives.


	31. A perfect pet

**Sirius can't be involved in Harry's life; he's supposed to be dead. He can't contact Lupin because Lupin thought he was the traitor. Iris can't move against Pettigrew without revealing future knowledge. All those issues are complicated by Dumbledore's and Voldemort's interests too.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Quirrel and Voltemort go after the Stone under Dumbledore's protection when the Flamels' remaining stores of Elixir could have given Voldemort back his mortal body and powers without him having to attack his greatest foe? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"We should tell her, Harry." Hermione whispered under her breath for the tenth time that day, only to be immediately cut off by Ron.

"No way! She's a snake. And she's way too chummy with Parkinson and..." His angrily rising voice was silenced by Madam Pince's angry glare before he could finish, but Harry knew what he was going to say. However supportive, understanding, and likable his cousin might be, she was too close to Malfoy and his friends to be told of the Philosopher's Stone... especially with her Head of House wanting to steal it and kill him. Why did she have to be sorted into Slytherin? Why couldn't she join him in Gryffindor? She was a good person and more than daring enough, if all the stunts she pulled off every so often were any indication.

 _The Sorting Hat wanted to put you into Slytherin, remember?_ A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Maybe it's your fault you and Iris are not together.  
_ Harry tried to ignore that little voice, to no avail. After months of interaction with several Slytherins, he'd come to the realization they weren't as bad as he'd first thought. Not all of them, at least. Malfoy and his goons were horrible just because they came from older, wealthier families of course, and Parkinson was a right bitch that would do anything to get her way, but not everyone in Slytherin was like that. Blaize, the tall, good-looking, Italian boy seemed friendly enough, even with Hermione, and Lillian Moon was quietly watchful half the time and a bubbly girly-girl like Lavender the rest, neither behavior particularly worrying. Then there was that one time Iris had asked him the one question that had really shaken him, far more than Hagrid's revelations about Voldemort.

 _How many people in Slytherin have you actually talked to, Harry?_ She'd demanded after one late evening dueling session when he'd started grumbling about 'cheating Slytherins'. _Ten people? Less? Out of more than a hundred Slytherins, how many had you interacted with before you made up your mind about our House?_ She'd sneered then, so much like Snape that his half-formed reply had been cut short. _No, scratch that. How many of your Housemates have you talked to by now? I bet there are Gryffindors in your year you've never so much as initiated conversation with, and others you barely know at all. And what about Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? You're practically a hermit; are you sure you're forming your own opinions or merely regurgitating those of others?_

Shocked at the intensity of his cousin's accusations, he'd scrambled for a responce... and found none. Iris had been right; he could barely remember the names of some Gryffindor girls in his year, and only because Hermione had mentioned how good Fay Dunbar and her friend Sophie Roper were with Potions. Parvati and Lavender he'd talked to once - back in his first week, and not once since then. Dean and Seamus he spoke to occasionally, but did he really know them? Who had he talked to, really, after more than half a year in Hogwarts? Would he have had any friends other than Ron if Iris had not practically dragged him into meeting more people?

"I think Hermione is right." He finally admitted, breaking the silence. The bushy-haired girl beamed at him, while Ron frowned for a moment then reluctantly nodded, while Neville grinned and gave him the thumbs-up. After her standing up to him before the other Slytherins, Neville turned crimson and started to stammer uncontrollably whenever Iris was mentioned; his current grin was a huge improvement in his self-confidence.

"I knew you'd come around, Harry." The Gryffindor know-it-all said with renewed enthusiasm. "Now we could..."

"'ello there." The four of them jumped up at the booming voice, and looked up at the towering figure leaning over them. That greeting might have been a near-whisper for Hagrid, but for the average person it was practically a shout. "What're you lot up ter inside a sunny day like this?" He suddenly looked suspicious. "Yer not still researchin' tha' Flamel fella, are yeh?"

"Nah." Ron said with an air of indifference. "We found out about him ages ago."

"But don't worry, Hagrid." Hermione said placatingly when the gentle giant's eyes widened. "We won't go looking for trouble, we promise. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"Ah... err... thanks." Hagrid said. "Be seeing ye." He finished lamely and shuffled off.

"Why d-did you lie to Hagrid?" Neville asked when he was gone, accusation in his eyes. "He's our friend!"

"Yes Neville, but he also can't keep a secret to save his life." Hermione explained with a roll of her eyes. "We don't want our suspicions reaching Snape any time soon."

"As in, not before we graduate." Ron added with feeling. Out of the four of them, he hated Snape the most and had been really proud of his "blasting the git". But if the Potions Master ever learned he'd been responsible...

"Right." Harry said decisively. "If we can get Iris' help, maybe we can find out what Shape's up to and put a stop to it."

"I still think we should tell Professor Dumbledore if we do find out." Hermione countered and the argument was on. So focused they were on it that by the time they returned to Gryffindor tower, they'd entirely forgotten how strange Hagrid's visit to the Library had been.

 **xxxx**

Contrary to popular belief and many wild stories, wandless magic did not require deep knowledge of arcane lore, was not 'activated' by strange rituals, and wasn't a mark of incredible power. It just needed wanting a magical act to happen strongly enough, followed by practice and repetition until you could do it at will. The problem was that most wizards simply did not care to put that much work into casting spells they already could with a wand. As a simple comparison, Professor McGonagal had told Iris in the now aborted future, was learning to turn people into animals with a wand versus becoming an animagus. The former took about a month of effort for a NEWT-level student. The latter took the few adults that attempted it one to four years. That Tom Riddle had had enough desire to be different as a child to manage the Stinging Hex, Compulsion, Fear Charm, Animal Calling, Levitation, and a Truth Spell before coming to Hogwarts was nearly as impressive as Hagrid effectively doing all his magic with a broken wand, including basic human Transfiguration.

As a means to stave off boredom in class and improve her mental focus, Iris had decided back in the beginning of the year to try to learn all spells wandlessly, using a fake wand as cover. Now however, with her practical marks more and more often being less than perfect, she was reconsidering. It was less a question of power and focus, as it was never having practiced many of those spells as an adult. Making a pineapple dance, or turning beetles into buttons was not an Auror's job, and blasting or vanishing doors was faster than unlocking them. On the other hand giving up was not in her nature, and relying on three decades of wandwork over her classmates to coast through every lesson did not sit well with her sense of fair play, and would not help her skills improve.

Unfortunately, halfway through Flitwick's latest lesson an imaginary bell started ringing in her mind, breaking her concentration and making her pineapple blow up. That wouldn't have been much of an issue if every single other pineapple in the class had not followed it in its explosive demise, coating every Slytherin and Ravenclaw first year with sticky fruit juice and fingernail-sized pineapple pieces.

"Oh come on, Black!" Lillian Moon hissed with uncharacteristic venom. "I'd just had a scented bath this morning and now look; I'm a total mess thanks to your antics. Couldn't you have pranked the Gryffindors instead?"

"Umm... what?" Iris asked, still more preoccupied with her alarm spell going off than the ruined lesson or annoyed classmates. Why had it happened so early?

"Right, as if I hadn't noticed all of Draco's, Greg's, and Vincent's little 'accidents' all year!" The smaller, cuter brunette huffed indignantly. "I'm not blind, you know. Teaching someone a lesson in humility and politeness is one thing. Annoying the rest of us isn't - or do you want Flitwick and McGonagal to know who's really behind the suddenly breaking chairs, upturned desks, reversing transfigurations, and wand misfires?"

"This one was an accident." Iris replied a bit defensively as the diminutive Charms Professor hurried around the class in his stubby legs, casting Cleaning Charms on anyone who needed them. So Lillian had noticed... probably because Iris had not been nearly as careful as she should have. She hoped her more... adult opponents had not similarly caught on some of her other tricks. "Plus, almost everyone is laughing - even Greengrass. I'll probably get points for breaking the Ice princess out of her shell."

"I am not laughing." Her dormmate scowled. "I'm not a snitch, but you owe me one. That new sandalwood-scented soap of yours should be enough compensation." Iris contemplated for a moment the merits of temporary peace of mind versus giving into the demands of one of the sneakier snakes, then remembered that the soap in question had come from a Muggle shop and been disguised as a custom-order Sleekeasy's product. If the youngest Moon scion ever became a real annoyance she could always reveal that fact and claimed she'd intentionally baited her into using a product of muggle "animals".

"Deal." She agreed, and shook the too-perceptive girl's hand. She had bigger problems than the inexpert politicking of an eleven-year-old.

 **xxxx**

"Iris! Iris! Wait up!" Harry called at his cousin and first friend as he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville finally caught up with her after Transfiguration near the Charms corridor. The Slytherins had a different schedule of course, but Harry had learned the girl's routine enough to be able to find her if he or his friends ever needed help with something... and boy, did they need help now.

"What's up, Harry?" She said with a smile, green eyes flaring with some anxiety. "I'm in a hurry, so unless it's important..."

"It is." He confirmed, Hermione and Neville nodding emphatically. Ron didn't like Iris as much so he didn't join them. "We got something to tell you... something secret."

"It's really important." The bushy-haired Gryffindor agreed. "But we can't talk here. Can we go to our... err... usual meeting place?"

"Indeed?" The Slytherin asked, dark eyebrow rising critically. "Then you might as well join me instead. We'll be just as safe where we're going and I also have something to show you." And without further ado, she practically dragged them with her to the entrance hall and then outside to the Hogwarts grounds.

"So... where are we going?" Harry asked, seeing other students milling around the lakeside, the Quidditch field, or the borders of the Forbidden Forest. It was well and truly spring, the icy slush and knee-deep mud of March a thing of the past. In fact, it was one of the first truly warm days of the year and would have been far more enjoyable if not for the Stone and Snape heavy in their minds. Harry would have liked nothing better than a relaxing afternoon, followed by a hearty dinner and several hours of Exploding Snap or Wizard's Chess with Ron and Neville, but they had too important things to do.

"We're going to see Hagrid." Iris gave him a smirk that suddenly made Harry very uneasy. "I have it on good authority that he has something very interesting to show us."

"It better not be another three-headed dog." Ron grumbled darkly, and Harry chuckled. Not even the gentle giant could be hiding another such monster in or around the castle. Alarmingly, Iris graced Ron with another creepy smirk.

"Oh, you'll love this." The Black heiress said sarcastically. "Hagrid certainly did, anyway."

And with that ominous assurance, she knocked on the half-giant's front door.

 **xxxx**

Quirrel was feeling cautiously optimistic about his sped-up plans. He'd managed to obtain a suitable bait for that halfbreed oaf and had extracted the one piece of information he hadn't managed to obtain in his previous baiting of Snape and McGonagal. He'd scouted the unicorn herd in the Forbidden Forest and was already thinking up the best plan to... acquire some of their numbers. While Snape and even Dumbledore were suspicious, they didn't really have proof and would not bar him from his objective. His Master knew the old goat wanted to drag him into a trap but Dumbledore had arranged it so they had to try for the Stone here anyway; they didn't have the time to outlast the Flamels' patience. Thus the only counter was for Quirrel to arrange it so that the old meddler had to leave the castle unexpectedly, with no opportunity to cover for his absence; his Master was confident they could deal with the trap itself and the other Professors if it came to that. Last but not least, this was a good opportunity to kill Potter before he could grow into the threat the Prophesy had predicted. But how to arrange those last two situations?

As Quirrel snuck through the Centaurs' lands and glided towards the forest's edge, he saw something that really made his day. Potter, the Weasley brat, the Longbottom heir, that mudblood chit, and the Black girl were walking towards the oaf's cabin. He could not believe his eyes; both subjects of the Prophesy, an animal with aspirations of learning magic, the youngest child of Dumbledore's staunchest supporters, and the only surviving heir of the family that had so vexed his Master, all within his reach... and this had been the warmest day of the year. It was perfect; with a single strike he'd eliminate all potential threats to his Master's plans, force Dumbledore to deal with enormous backlash in the Ministry, and potentially emotionally cripple him with the deaths of his beloved little brats.

The worst would be the doubt, the fear of the unknown, the possessed man thought with malice as he ran for the castle while the doomed children entered the half-giant's hut. Nobody would ever find out the Potter brat's fate.

 **xxxx**

"Hagrid, raising dragons is illegal!" Ron said. No, really? Iris would never have guessed. What with the cuddly foot-long, poison-laced teeth, and the lovable claws that could rend steel, and the really cute breath attack that could melt stone, the snuggle-worthy ridged hide that could bounce curses and light antitank weapons, and that endearing supernatural strength backed by child-like aggression that could break the anchor chains of a cruiser or burst through ten feet of solid stone... of course they made the perfect pets!

As in her previous life, Hagrid did not listen. He even clammed up like a suspected dark wizard interrogated by Aurors, probably because a Slytherin girl had found out. No matter how good, and helpful, and liked Iris might be, the gentle giant simply wasn't comfortable enough to talk about either the dragon or the Philosopher's Stone with her there. In retrospect, Iris should have expected it; A good-looking, likable, helpful, friendly Slytherin Prefect had caught her old friend with another monster once, and gentle Hagrid's life and future had been ruined as he was framed for something he'd never do.

"Please, Hagrid!" Hermione said for the tenth or twelfth time - Iris had lost count. "You can't raise a dragon in your hut, it's made of wood!" Hagrid did not respond. He had not spoken for the past fifteen minutes, his normally warm black eyes glaring suspiciously at Iris, with occasional shifts to the dragon's egg incubating in the fireplace. Damn Tom Riddle and his gullible pawns! Why did Quirrel have to give Norberta's egg to Hagrid two weeks ahead of time? She'd had the perfect plan to sneak invisibly to Hogsmeade through the hidden tunnels, wait around Hog's Head for Quirrel to arrive, hit him with a Petrification Curse and move him to a secure location. Riddle's spirit would be forced to abandon his inert host beyond Dumbledore's watchful eye without Harry needing to be endangered. Dumbledore would discover the loss of the Stone and Quirrel's disappearance, believe the Dark Lord would return, and mobilize all his allies three years early. The Flamels might be persuaded to share their resources and secrets with the House of Black in the fight against the Dark Lord instead of commiting suicide. Everyone would have won, except poor, misanthropic, unlamented Riddle and his pawns. But now...

"Let's go, everyone, it's getting late." She said, looking at the darkening sky outside. "Obviously we won't convince him any time soon, but we can come back tomorrow." Harry agreed with her without the grumbling and arguments that were usual of late, Ron nodded and pulled an irate Hermione away from a too-stubborn half-giant to listen to reason.

"What're ye goin' ter do?" Hagrid asked as they were about to leave, suddenly breaking his silence. Emerald eyes stared into black, neither looking away.

"Nothing, Hagrid." She says solemnly. She wasn't about to break the heart of one of her best future friends. "Not all Slytherins are evil, you know." She glanced at Harry, then stared back at her oldest friend. "Just as not all Gryffindors are good. Think about it, will you?" With that, they left.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as Ron and Harry talked about dragons and Ron's brother Charlie in a low whisper.

"Merely reminding Hagrid about old family history." Iris said, lighting her wand and picking up her step; Ron's huge strides really ate up the distance.

"Oh really?" The bookish Gryffindor said, unconvinced. She was about to launch another Inquisition into Iris' secrets when patches of darkness literally lashed out of the edge of the Forbidden Forest and snatched all four of them.

Some days suck more than others. Those on which monsters try to kill you suck most of all.


	32. A perfect detention

**The story premise is specifically about a time-traveler who tried to be prepared for everything and attempt to make sweeping changes, only for those plans falling apart. Don't expect any of the protagonists curbstomping all obstacles in their path. Even if some of the canon events are easily resolved, other problems will crop up as Iris influences the plot.**

 **Disclaimer: Did nobody other than Snape and Hermione ever chastise Harry for his recklessness and saving-people-thing? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

This was not the first time Harry had been attacked by something or someone downright terrifying since coming to Hogwarts, so suddenly finding himself in the coils of a gigantic formless monster was not as scary as it could have been. Yes, it was pitch black in this new threat's massive grip, yes, he was being squeezed hard enough to hear his bones groan, yes, he'd probably die unless he did something. But as usual, terror took a back seat while the need to save his friends and possibly himself drove him to action. Even the most inept Healer or Professor could have told him how fundamentally wrong that reaction was for a child his age, but being who he was had its drawbacks. Most people in wizarding Britain expected such "valor" from the Boy-Who-Lived, and those few who knew better had bigger problems to deal with. So with grim determination, he drew his wand with great effort and started casting every offensive spell he knew at the unknown attacker.

Hermione screamed; she couldn't help it. Reading about horrible monsters in a book was one thing; encountering them in the castle grounds quite another. Besides, she hadn't read about anything even close to the thing that had attacked them. Formless, soundless, boneless, pitch-black, and incredibly strong, it also seemed to be ignoring the jinxes and charms Harry was hitting it with at point-blank range, including the Severing Charms that would have cut any normal animal to pieces by now. As she tried to push back against the smooth, slick, smothering mass, the bushy-haired Gryffindor finally begun to calm down and think things logically. Death did not appear to be imminent, however horrible her current predicament, so screaming and freezing up wasn't going to help; she'd tried both during the Troll incident, with a scolding from the Black girl being the only result. So she tried for option number three in her admittedly limited repertoire and tried to set her attacker on fire. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

"What's happening?!" Ron shouted in such a high-pitched voice that would have made his younger sister laugh. He blinked a couple of times, and when that made no difference to what he could see, he began to thrash uncontrollably.

"OW!" An almost as high-pitched, female voice cried out. "Stop it, Ron, you're hurting me and yourself far more than our attacker."

"Iris?" The boy struggled some more, accidentally backhanding the Black heiress and nearly making her lose her grip on her wand.

"Of course it's me, you bloody moron! There are only two girls around, and Hermione would have punched you back by now." Bringing her wand to bear with a tremendous effort, Iris cast her strongest Shield Charm in an attempt to push back their attacker. It lasted about as long as a soap bubble would have.

"Iris?" Harry's muffled voice came from below them. "You're in this thing, too?"

"I think we all are." Hermione's voice came from above. "What is it? Devil's Snare?"

"Nope. It's much worse!" Iris tried to shout back with Ron's knees digging into her stomach. "The only reason we're alive is because it's trying to devour all four of us at once."

"Devour?" Ron shouted at the top of his really loud voice. Then he started struggling even more violently than before, pushing and punching at the closest available target... which happened to be Iris.

"Ron you bloody wanker!" The girl in question groaned. "You made me lose my wand!"

Several rounds of incrimination were bandied around, until Hermione noticed their predicament worsening again. The mild itching sensation she'd been feeling for some time was getting stronger, followed by a strange numbness. "Whut..." she slurred. "Whut is this thiing?"

"Le... leth... ...old!" came the other girl's voice, it too beginning to slur. "And it's beginning... to digest us... funny word... digest..." After that their voices were reduced to indecipherable mumbling and moaning...

 **xxxx**

When the huge wave of darkness came out of the Forbidden Forest and swallowed his friends, Neville could do nothing but stare for a moment. He did not know what the attacker was, or how he could help his friends. The only reason he wasn't captured along with the others was probably because the monster - whatever it was - simply did not have enough room for five people in its folds. So Neville, the least capable and quick-thinking among his friends, stood there all alone against the bloated, formless, nameless (to him) horror. And he had a really good idea; he ran. He ran towards the castle, calling for help at the top of his voice.

"Monsters! Monsters are attacking!" The young Gryffindor cried, determined to do well the one thing he could. "By the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid's hut!" So frantic and insistent were his shouts that not two minutes later help found him... in the form young Neville feared above most others.

"What are you blathering about, Longbottom?" Severus Snape demanded in his usual drawl as he suddenly appeared like a wraith gliding out of the near-darkness. "Why are you still out? Curfew started five minutes ago."

"M-monsters, Professor!" Neville bravely faced the bane of his existence. "Monsters in the grounds! And they've taken Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Iris."

"I see." Professor Snape said in a long-suffering voice, pinching the base of his nose and briefly contemplating how much simpler his life would be if he simply Obliviated Longbottom and returned to his office in the dungeons. But no, he had certain duties to fulfill, certain burdens he had to carry through no fault of anyone but himself. "Lead on, Longbottom." He said, knowing he'll soon regret his decision. But he'd regret the alternative even more.

"Sir?"

"To those monsters of yours, Longbottom." The irate Potions-Master growled. "And so help me Merlin, if this is one of Potter's or Black's idiotic pranks, you'll all be scrubbing cauldrons with your bare hands till your grandchildren graduate."

Professor and student ran out of the castle once more. Or rather, Neville ran; Snape seemed to glide after him, his much longer legs devouring the distance as efficiently as Hagrid's horrendously misnamed "Fluffy" attempted to do to anyone that entered his corridor other than the half-giant. Severus Snape was certain he was being pranked. He was only giving the boy the benefit of the doubt because it was his duty and because it was Longbottom; the little spineless, cauldron-melting dunderhead was neither intelligent enough nor foolhardy enough to pull something like that off against him. Chances were Potter and Black were using the boy as bait, something that would really make Snape's day, if true. Because with a bit of luck, his attitude against and suspicions of the two menaces would be vindicated, he'd get to shove their misdeeds in the Headmaster's face, and the spawn of his two old enemies would be happily and summarily expelled.

The Head of Slytherin's dreams of satisfaction were cut short by the writhing, quivering, disgusting black mass floating in mid-air not far from Hagrid's hut. The twisted, gleaming, sheet-like piece of darkness was far more gut-wrenchingly disgusting in person than its description in Snape's books of Dark Magic. It was also far larger than any other specimen anyone had encountered and survived to tell the tale, which explained why it would attempt to eat several victims at once, children or not.

"H-here, P-professor!" The Longbottom boy stammered fearfully, but resolutely refusing to flee. Either the magnitude of his idiocy was greater than Snape had initially believed it to be, or he had surprising loyalty to the Potter and Black spawn - same thing, really.

"I can see that, Longbottom." He said and drew his wand with a sigh. "Now stand back. Lethifolds can get really nasty if deprived of their meal."

"L-lethifolds?" The boy stammered again and Snape rolled his eyes, flicked his wand, and Levitated him to safety.

"You'll learn about them in NEWT-level Defense." Or he would if all of Dumbledore's hires for the Defense position were not as pathetic and useless as Quirrel. If the Headmaster kept him away from his rightful position much longer, this entire generation of dunderheads would grow to be even worse in Defense than they already were in potions. Which, given his ever-increasing tally of destroyed cauldrons, might be some sort of negative record.

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Enough procrastination; the Potter brat would not save himself. Bittersweet memories of a love lost manifested first as bright silver radiance, and then as the physical representation of the only woman Severus ever had and ever would love. That said representation was in the form of a doe was another source of bitterness for the dour Potions-Master, a perpetual reminder of his foolish betrayal and how it had practically thrown his one true love into his most hated foe's arms. But as always, Severus' love was far stronger than his bitterness and the Patronus worked as intended; with a mighty but graceful leap, it launched itself at the bloated Lethifold.

Of course, it was far from over. Unlike Dementors who were nonbeings, immortal wraiths formed of terror and dark magic, Lethifolds were living beasts. On one hand, that made their physical and magical invulnerability less than absolute; they could be killed if someone was both determined and powerful enough. On the other, they weren't as susceptible to the Patronus Charm as Dementors. And the Lethifold Snape was facing was both hungry and huge; it refused to immediately relinquish its prey. It sluggishly tried to flee instead, carrying its four victims with it.

Snape would have none of that. He sent the silver doe to charge directly at the bloated mass again and again, until it unfolded and four limp forms were unceremoniously dropped onto the muddy ground. Success! Except depriving it of its meal made the near-mindless beast as angry as Snape had expected. Heedless of his Patronus' silver radiance and protective aura of hope and tranquility, it charged him. Unfortunately for the beast, it was not immortal... and Severus Snape was far from the standard Patronus-toting, offensively-challenged Auror.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The neon-green bolt of the Killing Curse flew through the intervening distance with the sound of something both vast and inevitable, moving as swiftly as a shadow and as unstoppably as Juggernaut. It met the Lethifold in mid-flight, splashed against it in a soundless flash of emerald radiance, and the thing melted away, its body reverting to the mud and slime it had come from as its twisted mockery of life dispersed like so much black smoke.

"Retrieve your jaw from the ground, Longbottom" Snape drawled. "before something unpleasant crawls inside it." He glanced at the unconscious forms of the four more insufferable brats in Hogwarts and sighed.

"Expecto Patronum"

"Headmaster, we've had a Lethifold attack." He said to the silvery apparition. "Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Black are the victims. They're unconscious, bruised, with half-melted attire, and first and second degree burns, but they'll survive." Unfortunately. "May I suggest they be evacuated to the Hospital Wing via house elf? Potter and Black have enough admirers already; they do not need to cross the castle in such a state of undress."

The silver doe galloped away, the message sent. Now all that remained was to handle the aftermath.

 **xxxx**

"I do not believe a detention is required, Severus." Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore said with that annoying gleam in his eyes. "The children have been through enough, don't you think?"

"I doubt being almost digested by a dark creature will curb Potter's and Black's propensity for trouble, Headmaster." Snape countered. "It did not do so in the past, as you must remember."

"My memory is still good as always, Severus. It is yours I am worried about." The old man said sadly. "Harry and Iris are not their parents. In the young Miss Black's case, we do not even know who her parents are."

"And that does not make you suspicious?"

"Of course it does." The old sorcerer agreed. "But satisfying my curiosity is hardly an excuse to predispose myself against them as you have. So far the children had been blameless in all situations that have come up, the true culprit being far older and darker. Or do you honestly believe even young Miss Black would be capable of breeding such a dangerous dark creature?"

"No, I do not." Snape was finally forced to agree. "Quirrel is probably responsible, though I cannot see how. Breeding Lethifolds would not be beyond a dark wizard, but setting up an ambush for specific targets? Nothing short of Fiendfyre or the Killing Curse can affect Lethifolds through their magic resistance, beasts or no. Let's round up the obvious culprit and ask them."

"Let's not." Dumbledore said firmly. "All hints we have about Voldemort's current condition indicate he can neither be contained, nor easily tracked. Allowing him to believe us ignorant of his survival is paramount to indirectly limiting his plots."

"As you've told me before." The Potions Master growled and slammed his fist into Dumbledore's desk; it hurt. "Are you sure this deception will cause the Dark Lord to act as you've predicted?"

"Whatever his many gifts and talents, arrogance had ever been Voldemort's second greatest failing." The aging Headmaster said yet once more. "His pattern of past actions has always been rather rigid, as long as no credible opposition exists as far as he can see. Through apparent inaction we slowly steer him towards the only future that does not spell total ruin for wizarding Britain."

"So you say..." Severus' argument was empty and they both knew it. For decades he'd seen Albus Dumbledore stave off disaster after disaster both within the field of battle and without, preventing the Dark Lord from achieving total victory or even coming into the open rather than leading what essentially was a terrorist movement. Horrendous to him as the repercussions of the Prophesy had been, they'd also given Dumbledore a clear path to, if not victory then at least mutual destruction. Why Dumbledore refused to take the field himself, act rather than react, Severus did not know. As long as he did so however, as long as their side had no leader to match the Dark Lord directly, subterfuge was their only recourse.

 **xxxx**

Albus Dumbledore sat heavily in his comfortable armchair as soon as Severus left. Withholding the truth from his allies and friends was harder than most people could imagine. He challenged anyone who'd gotten as close to as many people as he had over the years to do better in the position he'd been forced into through his own past actions and faults and do nearly so well. Seeing the students he taught generation after generation being either sacrificed on the altar of other people's ambitions or corrupted by mad ambition themselves was not an easy thing to face. But it was necessary.

For Albus Dumbledore knew one way to resolve this untenable position easily enough. Acting, as many asked him to. Unfortunately, he knew beyond doubt he could not be trusted with power. He had faced his own mad ambitions, his own dark dreams of conquest decades ago... and been found wanting. If he'd once been willing to sacrifice his own family, consciously or otherwise, where would he stop if he again took up the mantle of power he had abandoned with such difficulty and enormous cost to himself and others? Such thoughts he struggled with every time what was easy became too tempting and he almost forgot what was right.

With a heavy heart, he resolved once more to do what was right, remaining in the prison he'd built for himself much like those he'd built for others. The alternative was far too terrible to contemplate.


	33. A perfect excuse

**Dumbledore's self-esteem issues are a good explanation for half a century of his doing almost nothing IMHO. He once had a dream to lead the wizarding world into a new era of marvels and muggle subjugation, and live forever with the love of his life, but all his dreams became dust. That can deeply shake anyone, no matter how capable or powerful. Otherwise, he would have acted far more openly and directly to fix things. Iris might be a Female!Slytherin!Harry, but others don't see her in that position. To them she's a Black, not the Girl-Who-Lived. Hence the mistrust.**

 **Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed. Nearly a thousand follows is far more than I expected so early in the story.**

 **Disclaimer: Did anyone in canon take the Golden Trio to task for acting on their own in any situation they actually deserved the talking to? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Harry's stay in the hospital wing after that horrible monster's attack was the longest he'd ever had. Not only did he have to suffer through regrowing several shattered bones, the slow healing of nasty burns over nearly a third of his body from the monster's attempt to digest him, and the even slower restoration of several torn ligaments, but he was on the receiving end of Madam Pomfrey's endless tirades. The mediwitch had to cast dozens of spells and brew even more potions for him to drink every day, and was determined that Harry hear of every single one of them and how stupid he'd been to need them. That last part of her grumbling was the one thing the young Gryffindor did not get; how had the monster's sudden attack been his fault?

At least Harry did not have to face the angry hospital wing matron on his own; Ron, Iris, and Hermione were in as bad a shape as he was. The company did help him to endure his week-long stay in the infirmary, which made him feel horribly ashamed every time he heard Hermione's sobs late in the night or saw Ron shaking as his bones slowly regrew. He resolved to suffer the long nights without complaint like his cousin, the Black heiress being the only one of them to draw Madam Pomfrey's ire by actually making jokes when she was around.

Neville visited them every day, sharing with them all the silly, horribly exaggerated rumours about their latest "adventure". The shy boy found all the attention he was getting from the other Gryffindors and the rest of the school strange and rather scary. Even if it had been Snape's magic that saved them from the unknown monster, Neville had been the one to bring the Potions Master to them. To those that believed the Hogwarts rumour mill, that made the timid Gryffindor the hero that saved the life of the Boy-Who-Lived, as well as the lives of his friends. Given Neville's usual attitude, Harry suspected the crowd's attention would have long since died down if not for the intervention of Fred and George. The Weasley Twins preceded poor Neville everywhere lately, announcing the arrival of the "Saviour-Of-The-Saviour". The only person apparently happy with the situation was, as far as Harry could tell, Professor Snape. Despite saving their lives, his most hated teacher's attitude hadn't changed at all. If anything, he grumbled about Harry's "terminally moronic desire for false glory" worse than ever.

The sudden monster attack and Harry's subsequent stay in the Hospital Wing did more than help him recover and strengthen the bonds among his group of friends. It also confirmed Iris' words about how few people Harry was really friends with. Beyond his close group of friends and the Twins, only Oliver Wood visited to see how soon his Seeker would be recovered enough to join his new, more intensive training schedule in preparation for the last match of the year. That said match was "only" two months away just added to Wood's rising panic. Harry was a bit disappointed the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team did not come to visit, let alone anybody else from Gryffindor House. His cousin, elitist pureblood scion that she was, got more visitors than he did. Not only from the Slytherin Quidditch team, but also several girls, Blaize Zabini, and Draco Malfoy from her year and House (who were quite girlish, now that Harry thought of it), Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff, and Padma and Parvati from Ravenclaw and Harry's own House respectively.

If Iris' circle of friends and acquaintances made Harry uncomfortable by revealing how relatively isolated he was despite his fame, the visit of the tall, distinguished, expensively-dressed Lord Black made him strangely anxious and even somewhat jealous. Marching into the Hospital Wing like an old lion, a master of all he surveyed, the old sorcerer with the angular face, high cheekbones, large, pale, piercing eyes, and wild silver hair looked too severe to be anyone's dotting grandfather... but was still family to Iris. Harry wondered a bit longingly whether the man thought of him as a distant relative at all, but Lord Black paid him no attention whatsoever. Striding purposefully towards Iris's hospital bed, he drew his wand, gave it a small flick, and conjured an opaque onyx dome around himself, his wayward grandniece, and the nearby hospital beds. Ten minutes later, the dome abruptly vanished and the old wizard marched off without a word.

Like anyone else present, Harry heard and saw nothing of the Blacks' discussion - which probably was the conjured dome's purpose. But from his cousin's rather pale face and wide eyes, he quickly reconsidered his desire to have Lord Black as a distant relation. Maybe he should ask the obviously shell-shocked Iris what their discussion had been about; the girl appeared to need it.

 **xxxx**

"I did not let you come to Hogwarts only for you to blindly fall into the clutches of a Lethifold!" Arcturus Black roared to make his namesake proud.

"Acquiring resources for the House, the Philosopher's Stone among them, is not without risks." Iris countered. What followed came as a total surprise to the former Girl-Who-Lived; the noble and distinguished Lord Black slapped her! That the no-longer-ancient wizard would actually resort to physical violence was something she'd never expected. That he would follow that with a truly angry spiel about the value of Iris' life left the once adult witch gobsmacked.

"No 'resource' is as valuable as the family's future." Arcturus growled. "Your life, the life of any of our children, is worth more than any artifact. The youngest generation is the future of the Blacks, you among them."

"I am not a child." Iris growled back, casting a mild healing charm on her aching cheek.

"Aren't you?" A bushy, dyed-white eyebrow rose in challenge. Like many of the old-seeming features of the Black Patriarch, it had been faked with nonmagical means to make him seem his previous age as much as possible. Those expecting to see a century-old wizard would, while those trying to see through glamours or illusion would find there were none. "You took an immense risk to steal the Stone under Albus Dumbledore's nose with barely a plan worth mentioning, you openly and obviously associate with Harry Potter and thus draw everyone's attention, you even attempted to subvert one of Dumbledore's men with no preparation at all." His anger overcame his composure once more, the last few words practically thrown at her like curses. "Do those sound like the actions of anyone with common sense, let alone an adult?"

"Yes, because sense is common among witches and wizards at all." Iris complained, with reason as far as she was concerned. Besides, she had one advantage her great-uncle knew nothing about. Future knowledge had allowed her to achieve many impossible things already, saving the Black family not the least among them.

"Insufferable child. Don't you care that you were almost murdered three times?" Arcturus growled again. "Whatever you might once have been, no matter how much of your former abilities you retain, you have the body of an eleven-year-old girl. This is not one of your games with your cousins, over as soon as Sirius has his fun or Bellatrix roughs you up a bit. I will not see another member of my family die senselessly, especially one who could achieve so much in the future!"

"Have you considered that I might have good reasons for what I am doing, uncle?" Child indeed! Iris had risked her life during her years in Hogwarts alone more times than Arcturus Black had in his century-long life, and for bigger stakes. After Hogwarts, in the slowly crumbling wizarding Britain, she'd been in more dangerous situations as a member and then leader of the Auror corps than any other wizard alive. "That perhaps events in this castle are far more important for the future of our society than they appear to be?"

"I see." The no-longer old Lord Black said, his face a blank mask. "Perhaps you should elaborate then, since you know best."

"Secrecy is essential for success, uncle." Iris shook her head, inwardly pleased that her older relative valued her opinion. "Some information is too dangerous to reveal, especially since it could be taken from you magically."

"You misunderstand, young lady." Lord Black said, his thin lips pressed into an angry line. "The House of Black survived to become Noble and Most Ancient due to the unity and common purpose of its members, backed up by magical oaths and tradition. Only when one generation decided to throw away that unity and decide for themselves did we come to the brink of extinction. And that is one event I will not allow to repeat." He glared down at her, every inch the ancient and powerful Lord despite the Elixir of Life temporarily relieving him of the ravages of age. It was the kind of stare that would make even grown witches and wizards feel like little children, and Iris would be lying if she claimed to be entirely unaffected. "However much you did to restore the House, you joined us because you could not fight Tom Riddle on your own. I do not know whether your wisdom then or your obstinacy now are your true character, but I hope it's the latter. Because unless you explain your actions to my satisfaction, I am pulling you out of Hogwarts."

"What?"

"You heard me well enough." Lord Black said evenly. "I may not be your father, but you are a scion of the House of Black and I am its Lord. After multiple disappointments in the decisions of my grandchildren, grandnephews, and grandnieces, I'd like to see one of my descendants acting reasonably. If not, making better decisions will be up to me for your own good."

"That's incredibly unfair!" Iris complained, then realized the old wizard was right. Life was not fair... and Iris had been acting more and more like a child lately. Sighing, she silently admitted that all her great-uncle had been saying was right. "What would you like to know?" She finally asked dejectedly.

"So you can be reasonable when cornered. I was beginning to wonder." He sent a small smile back at Iris' angry glare. "Let's begin from the more immediate matter. Why did you attempt to recruit Severus Snape, using my name no less?"

"You mean besides his being one of the best brewers and duelists of his generation?" The young Slytherin witch frowned. "He is one of the most capable agents in both Dumbledore's and Riddle's camps, and his loyalty is to neither. During my previous life, I discovered his love for Lily Potter, and that he accidentally played a role in Riddle targeting the Potters. He bound himself to Dumbledore in exchange for the Potters being protected, but it was too little, too late. He now tries to protect her son as a penance."

"Interesting. I suppose his oaths to Dumbledore prevented you from recruiting him despite knowing his secrets?" Arcturus fell in deep thought for a minute or so before continuing, but kept any conclusions to himself. "The Boy-Who-Lived. Your befriending him was not coincidental, was it?"

"I happen to like Harry." Iris protested her great-uncle's businesslike tone. "Beyond any ulterior motives, nobody deserves a ruined childhood brought up by abusive, hateful, muggle relatives. Also, Harry's a nice kid, fairly intelligent, extremely loyal, extremely brave, and a powerful wizard."

"Yet marrying someone too similar often causes no end of trouble." He cautioned and it took Iris a few moments to register what he was implying.

"WHAT? Eww, someone Obliviate me." Iris shuddered at that mental image and wrapped herself up tightly in the white hospital sheets. "Harry's like a brother to me. I would never..." Considering they had the same mother and father, the exact same birthday and physical age, and the only differences in their personality came from the experience and gender alterations, they might as well be twins. Not even the Blacks would marry their brothers and sisters and Iris did not even want to think about it. Unfortunately, nobody but her knew how close her familial relationship to Harry actually was.

"And now I am convinced you really are merely eleven." Her not great-uncle said with a smirk. "That aside, are you hoping the boy's fame and connections will help us in our efforts against Riddle?"

"Not quite." Taking a deep breath, Iris revealed the one piece of information that might convince her relatives she wasn't crazy for taking such risks. "Albus Dumbledore used his connections to cover this up, but there was actually a Prophesy involving Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Snape's reaction all but confirmed his knowledge of it, as did Riddle's attack on the Potters a decade ago. I do not know the contents of the Prophesy..." And she didn't. The one in her timeline referred to a girl and Harry was obviously male, so some changes certainly existed. "...but finding out would give us valuable insight. Harry Potter might also have far more important a role to play than just with his fame."

"I see..." Lord Black scowled. "So the two assassination attempts were against the boy, not you. Riddle's agents are in Hogwarts." He fixed her with a glare once more. "Couldn't you have shared this with the rest of the House? You obviously need help if you and Potter were almost eaten by a Lethifold."

"And how would you get them inside the castle?" Iris countered, finding firm footing in this discussion for the first time. "Albus Dumbledore is no friend to the Old Houses and the traditions of our world, and would oppose any move from us. My being a student here is the most we can do without challenging him in his own turf."

"Perhaps. Have you identified Riddle's agents in the castle?"

"The Defence against the Dark Arts Professor." Iris said with certainty, given her future knowledge. "Which is quite odd, considering the curse Riddle himself placed upon that position. Beyond Quirrel, there is Lucius Malfoy among the Board of Governors, and the children of Death Eaters passively gathering intel. There is at least one more agent present, but I have not identified them yet."

"Huh." The old-seeming wizard's face took an indecipherable expression. "Perhaps it is time to arrange a few accidents."

"Oh, I already have." The young Slytherin witch said, her emerald eyes gleaming with excitement for the first time. "Quirrel will soon be revealed in a way that both lets us blame Dumbledore, and forces him to focus on Riddle rather than us. After all, there's only one thing Riddle's agents could be looking for in the castle other than Harry... and we already have it."

"Not a bad plan." The older wizard admitted after some thought. He rose from the hospital bed he'd been sitting on, patted down his tailored robes, then did the same with Iris' shoulders. "You convinced me to allow you to remain here despite your many blunders." He pulled one of Iris' ever-untameable locks behind her left ear and smiled down at her in a grandfatherly sort of way. "At least for this year, that is. Your return to Hogwarts for your second year is contingent upon not messing things up again, young lady, so try not to behave like the child you appear to be."

And with that, he vanished the opaque, magically-silenced dome keeping their discussion a secret and walked out, leaving a speechless Iris behind.

 **xxxx**

"The Blacks are moving to consolidate their power in the mercantile sector, Lucius." The massive figure of the Crabbe Patriarch said. "However else it might appear, they are far more active than before and have clear goals they are moving towards."

"That is odd." Lucius Malfoy mused, platinum waves dancing left and right as he shook his head. Sometimes, Irma considered in the safety of her own mind, he looked as girly as her granddaughter Narcissa. "Old Arcturus had always been far too invested in family above anything else. If the death of one Black scion, and the imprisonment of two others shook him enough to cripple the House a decade ago, why would the death of said prisoners spur him into activity?"

"You're certainly right, Lucius." Nott agreed in his oily way. A small man with a small mind, he hardly seemed as impressive as the others in the shadowed, windowless chamber they'd gathered in. "House Black has no remaining pureblood descendants in its name, no future. Their recent activity is but the final gasp, the death rattle of their line... one last futile attempt to wield their former power."

"You're wrong, Nott." Lord Crabbe was quick to correct his rival. He almost gleefully took advantage of the smaller man's grievous tactical error and his own superior information, if not intelligence. "Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange are not dead. The Blacks saved them from Azkaban clandestinely and faked their deaths. They're both secure inside their House's holdings. Their return is what had Arcturus make a bid for power."

"Preposterous!" Nott spat back and Irma had to agree with her cousin and current Lord; the small man was a total idiot. He was, however, highly competent in stealth and subterfuge when the mood struck him, and could arrange accidents with the best of them. Those skills and his connections made him dangerous despite his lack of higher intellectual functions. "Where's your proof, Crabbe? You're just saying this to increase the value of your so-called services.

"Oh, I have plenty of proof." Lord Crabbe said darkly. "Including an interrogation under Veritaserum of my own cousin which gave us valuable intelligence." Irma shuddered at his words, at the memories they brought back. The brutality of the Crabbe family was a well-known fact, and Irma was far from the young woman he'd been when last among them. However vicious and black-hearted the Blacks had been, they were less... physically brutal than her own family. Not for the first time, the now dead Pollux Black's wife regretted her decision to seek sanctuary among her blood relatives. At least her cousin had been more concerned with playing his horrible little games than extracting the more valuable information. She would not give him another opportunity; as long as she got an opening, she'd flee to the one relative she should have started from the start.

"Enough!" The young Lord Malfoy commanded. Despite being decades their junior, Lucius commanded Crabbe's and Nott's allegiance, if not respect, and was far smarter than they'd been. He'd even had the foresight to send his wife away when the House of Black was to be discussed, for Narcissa's allegiance might possibly shift to her blood relatives under enough pressure. "If the Blacks are moving to control what is ours, we cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves. We must strike back, and quickly."

"What do you suggest then?" Bloated, yellowed Lord Selwyn asked in his thin voice. Not yet as old as Irma herself and he'd practically destroyed his body with his excesses. Oh how far the Noble Houses had fallen if this was the best they had to offer. "Black seems to have enough economic power to push us out of the market in the businesses he's currently controlling. Once he has a monopoly in broom manufacture and the enchantment business, he could slowly but steadily expand into other sectors whatever we do."

"The Blacks are far from having a strong presence in brewing, creature reserves, farms, apothecaries, or the import-export business." Lucius Malfoy argued. "If we jointly gain control of those areas, we could stonewall their advance. But that's only a temporary measure; we should strike back as soon as we can."

"What do you have in mind?" Lord Crabbe asked, positioning himself to support Malfoy and taking advantage of it being his House to have brought them the new information. Both he and Irma knew what would follow.

"Oh, it's simple enough." Lucius Malfoy said with one of those smirks of his that said he knew more than you did. The smirk lied, of course, but Irma was wise enough not to bring it up. "If Arcturus Black saw fit to extract his grandson and grandniece from Azkaban, there will be evidence. Such a move is too illegal to justify even for someone of his influence and means, and no cover-up is perfect. Even if it is, he can't exactly call the Aurors if we arrange a couple of accidents for some supposedly dead fugitives now, can he?"

As the circle of supposedly former Death Eaters made their plans to find and either expose or kill Irma's grandchildren, the aging witch tried to think of any way she could find to get out of the predicament one bad decision had put her into.

 **xxxx**

In the shadows of Knockturn Alley, petty criminals, dark witches and wizards, even murderers tread lightly. For an unseen horror stalked their kind, a whisper in the dark, a nameless fear. They'd lately learned to be wary of the unknown as much as their innocent victims. The stalker however ignored them now that his hunt had been complete, his hunger sated. His weakness had been burned away in a funeral pyre of a dozen lives, and if he'd become both less and more than he'd once been in his attempts to get rid of it then so be it. Power was all that mattered... and revenge against those that had wronged him.


	34. A perfect trap

**Yay, over a thousand follows and we're barely through book one yet! You guys and gals are awesome!**

 **It might be a little longer before we get to the plots against the Blacks or what Bellatrix is up to though. Voldemort was a powerful wizard because he'd always truly believed he was different, that he could and should do what he did. That's what pushed him into succeeding despite starting Hogwarts as an apparent muggleborn sorted into Slytherin. It might have been better for him if he'd been sorted into Ravenclaw though; he might have learned some common sense along the way. Fortunately for the rest of the wizarding world, he didn't.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Albus Dumbledore put the Stone in the Mirror of Erized when the safest place would have been in his pocket? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Harry had never seen any visiting parent have such an effect on life in Hogwarts as Arcturus Black had. Not even Iris' grandmother Cassiopeia had had such an intimidating effect on the Dursleys as Lord Black seemed to have on the Hogwarts staff... even Snape seemed to be running scared. Harry couldn't blame them; the old Black patriarch seemed to radiate the same kind of aura of power Dumbledore had on occasion, and had much better and more numerous reasons to be angry. His granddaughter had nearly died several times over her first year in Hogwarts alone! If asked, Harry would also admit to being a bit envious of his cousin having a family that so obviously cared for her well-being. Whatever stories one could hear through the Hogwarts rumour mill, the Blacks had already proven to be much better than the Dursleys; rumoured insanity was far preferable to proven indifference, stupidity, and abuse, as far as Harry was concerned.

Despite Ron's urgent whispers against trusting anyone with the name of Black, Harry had only been worried when Lord Black discovered exactly why his granddaughter and her friends had been out in the Hogwarts grounds well after dark. Hagrid was his friend, and as much as the gentle giant needed a few lessons on why monsters did not make very good pets, Harry did not want to see him get in trouble with as powerful and influential a family as the Blacks were. Fortunately, Lord Black found a solution to everyone's satisfaction. One of the largest dragon preserves in the Hebrides was jointly owned by House Black and House Davis, and had more than enough space for one more dragon. In fact, a dragon as rare as a Norwegian Ridgeback would be very welcome there, and with Lord Black and his connections to vouch for him, Hagrid could still have visitation rights. He would even get to see more dragons in their natural habitat. Harry's biggest friend could not agree soon enough to Lord Black's offer, and had even cried tears of joy when the ancient wizard had insisted Headmaster Dumbledore should provide a Portkey for "Norbert's" safe and rapid transportation.

Crisis averted, Harry and his friends had returned to the impossible revision schedule Iris and Hermione had forced upon them. The bushy-haired Gryffindor was frantically trying to cram tome after heavy tome of lessons and pertinent information down everyone's throats, her studying mania having reached new heights after all the days they'd been forced to spend in the Hospital Wing away from any reading material. Fortunately for the boys' sanity, Iris' secret dueling club provided an outlet for their frustration that everyone could appreciate, even Ron and Malfoy. Harry was beginning to see how the Slytherin first-years were not very different than them after all, sharing in the same insecurities and frustration about exams no matter how well they tried to hide it. Harry suspected that very realization had been part of Iris' plan all along, though why his cousin wanted a closer if not necessarily better relationship between the Lions and the Snakes he had no idea. Perhaps the Black heiress wanted to rule over both Houses? If so, Harry would wish her luck and get out of her way; politics were way worse than anything else he could think of, including spending the rest of his life as Snape's personal assistant.

Iris herself had less free time than Harry or even Hermione; with the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match approaching, Marcus Flint had become as insane about Quidditch practices as Oliver Wood had ever been. Harry had no idea why he bothered. If the Weasley Twins were to be believed, the Black heiress was the best player to have ever flown. They'd know; they'd certainly spent enough hours spying on the Slytherin Quidditch practices with the telescopes on top of the Astronomy tower. After the shocked silence following their first successful spying session, they'd taken to pranking Wood to relieve the obvious tension in the Gryffindor team. Harry wouldn't have minded... if they hadn't started calling Iris "Harry's girlfriend" once more. One of those days his cousin would get around to thoroughly hexing them, and Harry hoped he was around to see it.

It was one Thursday morning in late April when Harry was filling in the last period of History of Magic before the Easter holidays with his best memories of the past few months that a worrying thought wormed its way into his mind and would not be ignored. Suddenly apprehensive, he'd immediately shared his concerns with Ron, Neville, and Hermione, talking over everything they knew late into the night and through the next day. When not even Gryffindor's resident Know-it-all could dispute his logic, they'd marched straight for their biggest friend's hut.

Where had Hagrid gotten a dragon egg, who could have given it to him, and why?

 **xxxx**

The plan was coming along nicely, despite his recent setbacks. He and his Master would have preferred that the accursed Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die had vanished in the folds of their Lethifold along with his irksome friends, but not all was lost. The Potter brat could always die after they got the Stone along with everyone else; it wasn't as if a few children could ever stop them. No, the main problem was Dumbledore. Fortunately, the old fool would not be a problem for much longer.

Nobody in Hogsmeade noticed the popping sound of an apparating wizard late in the evening. Everyone was too busy handling a few hundred brats from Hogwarts, the last Hogsmeade trip before the Easter Holidays. Hands shaking with the effort, Quirrel managed the Invisibility Charm... barely. His difficulties in casting complex magic were getting worse as his condition progressed to its inescapable conclusion, but that no longer mattered. For his old wizarding tent, the one he'd used in his trip to the Balkans, was now invisible... and would continue to be so for a few more hours. And the weather had been quite warm lately; perfect for both camping, and surprises.

Invisible to the casual observer thanks to a Disillusionment Charm, Quirrel made his way back to the castle... with a small, brief stop on the way. An expanded vial of corrosive potion carefully applied, and the Hogwarts carriages should fail at precisely the right moment. Can't have the bait escaping before the trap was sprung. Now, how to ensure that he wouldn't be called upon to help in the coming crisis? Perhaps a visit to that shrew Pomfrey was in order... he did look like a sick man, after all.

 **xxxx**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was having a nice evening tea and a few sweets when a pleasantly relaxing evening came to an end. Very few occasions were a bad time for tea and sweets, but a Patronus appearing into his office with a plea for help was one of them.

"Hogsmeade is under attack! The Hogwarts carriages have broken down! Both villagers and students are in danger! We need help, Headmaster!"

His stash of Sherbet Lemons forgotten, Albus Dumbledore immediately rose Fawkes from his slumber. In but a few moments, Minerva, Filius, Pomona, and Severus were in his office, taken there directly by his loyal Phoenix companion. Dumbledore himself had already used powerful seeing spells to look upon Hogsmeade directly and assess the situation. What he'd seen was not good... not good at all.

"We have a serious emergency in our hands." he told the four Heads of House without preamble. "A pack of Lethifolds is attacking Hogsmeade and our students are in danger. Can all of you produce both a Patronus to fend off the monsters and a powerful enough spell to destroy them?"

"Lethifolds here?" Minerva gasped. "Albus, that's absurd! They are native to the tropics, not Britain!"

"The mayor of Hogsmeade asked me for help via Patronus and I saw them remotely via magic." The Headmaster told her solemnly. "They're all too real, Minerva. The attack on Harry proved as much. I'd hoped that had been an isolated incident, or possibly a directed but singular attempt at his life, but I've been proven wrong."

"Albus I..." His old friend's eyes lowered towards the floor. "I... I can't help you with this one..." Dumbledore understood and respected Minerva's decision. Minerva had been a powerful and fierce witch, always quick to join the fight and defend others in the first war with Voldemort. But she'd also suffered through much emotional hardship early in life, hardship he'd tried to alleviate by offering her a teaching position. For years, decades even, it had seemed to work, and she'd even found new happiness after the war ended. Alas, it was not to be. Her husband of only five years had died in a simple, senseless accident at the height of the couple's happiness. Minerva had been devastated, and only six years later she'd yet to recover. She hardly put any effort into anything except teaching, and even her lessons had lost much of their old fire. Her life had become as empty and sad as her abandoned house in Hogsmeade and however much he'd tried to engage her, get her out of an endless cycle of despair, he'd failed. He could do no more for his friend and former protege, and understood her decision. Lethifolds could only be slain by extremely destructive magic, or fended off by a powerful Patronus; Minerva was not sure she could produce either and thus had decided not to make herself a potential victim.

"Very well." The ancient wizard sighed. "Hold the fort along with Pomona. Severus? Filius?"

"It has been some time since my dueling days, but I'll think I'll manage." The diminutive Charms Master said drily. "When are we leaving?"

"Right now." Dumbledore said decisively. Severus had already given his wordless agreement and his recent performance against a Lethifold left little doubt as to his ability. Without further ado, the three powerful wizards touched Fawkes and were transported to their destination with a flash of fire. They arrived at a scene of total chaos. Hundreds of students and villagers were screaming as undulating, shapeless black sheets glided after them in their panicked retreat. A few witches and wizards, some older students among them, were trying to fight the nightmarish beasts to little effect. Not a single strong corporeal Patronus was in evidence, and every single jinx, charm, hex, or curse they were hurling slid off the Lethifolds' backs like so much rainwater. Since the dark beasts left no evidence, nothing to mark their victims' violent consumption, the ancient wizard had no idea how many lives they had already claimed. But with nearly a dozen beasts to fight, he could not afford to wait and plan.

"Expecto Patronum!"

As a silver Phoenix joined Fawkes in the skies, the situation made a turn for the worst; more than a dozen new Lethifolds appeared out of thin air next to the Three Broomsticks and the greatest concentration of terrified students...

 **xxxx**

Iris was going to kill Harry Potter. She did not care that he was her Paradox-provided twin. She did not care that he was the Boy-Who-Lived in this timeline. She did not care that he'd done a credible job as her cousin and a loved and loving member of the family, mild sibling rivalry aside. She did not even care that he was making the exact same mistakes that she had back when she'd been eleven and a foolish first-year girl.

How dare he go after the Philosopher's Stone without telling her! He could get his fool self killed, prophesy or no prophesy, and for what? The Stone was no longer there, removed by iris herself months ago. It had been the perfect trap; let Quirrel and Voldemort go after it, alert Dumbledore by going through the challenges, then waste time and effort trying to retrieve it from the Mirror of Erized, not knowing someone else had already done so. Then let Dumbledore deal with them and frantically search for the inexplicably missing Stone, while Harry was safely away, and Iris was having a boring evening finishing her latest History of Magic essay.

Naturally, Harry had somehow come to the same conclusion she had in his age, even without the "detention" with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Even worse, the whole thing had coincided with some sort of disturbance in Hogsmeade the Headmaster needed to personally deal with or lives would be lost, and Professor McGonagal had again disregarded dire warnings because they came from a bunch of first-years. Iris knew as much because she'd actually checked as soon as her alarm spell on Fluffy's door had been triggered. Revealing and farseeing charms were quite useful - no wonder Dumbledore practically swore by them. Thus Iris' worst suspicions had been proven beyond reasonable doubt; Fate officially hated her.

A sleeping charm powerful enough to take out a dragon, one Fleur had taught her in the future timeline, had temporarily taken Fluffy out of commission. With four Gryffindors already in the challenges ahead, she had little time or patience to play to the slavering beast. Besides, music had never been her strong point. A blast of fire and a levitation charm dealt with both the very long drop and the Devil's Snare, and she quickly moved on to the chamber of keys. Two potion-infused pellets, one with the Weasley Twins' animal-shape formula and the other with Shrinking Solution had let her fly through the keyhole as a miniature raven, which had brought her to McGonagal's chessboard and the four idiotic Gryffindors - finally!

Some help from Kreacher might have been faster, if only she'd known exactly which challenge Harry and his friends had managed to reach. She had found them in time, though... now she only had to decide what to do. Her Cloak of invisibility allowed her to watch Ron fight his way through the opposition undetected. The youngest Weasley was just as good in Chess in this timeline as in her old one and with the addition of Neville to their little group, he'd thought to have one of them take the place of the black King, the only completely safe position on the monstrous chessboard. Of course, Neville had been chosen to be said king, not Harry, a decision Iris fully supported. However much he'd progressed lately, the timid Lion might still panic in this life-or-death situation, attempt to flee and have them lose the chess match. Unfortunately, winning still required sacrifices and as expected, Ron bravely offered himself. Not wanting her past and future friend to be truly hurt, Iris cast a Shield Charm on him right before the white Queen attacked, followed by Confundus Charms to make both Ron and the others believe he'd actually been hurt, and to have Neville faint in relief as soon as the battle had been won. The fewer children risking their lives in the challenges ahead, the better.

As Hermione and Harry entered the final challenge before Quirrelmort, Iris followed them, still unsure on what exactly she should do. Should she keep Harry away from Voldemort and safe, but ignorant? Should she give him a chance to prove himself, but expose him to at least some risk as Dumbledore had done to her so long ago? At least this once an adult would be having the Chosen One's back, covertly following him in his confrontation with evil and ensuring he survived, rather than rely on a Prophesy and an unproven Blood Protection to keep him alive. Yes, as much as she'd hated Dumbledore making that decision for her in the past, she could see how the confrontation had mentally prepared her for the years to come. Robbing that opportunity from Harry would only keep him safe if Iris could guarantee she could stop Voldemort without Harry being involved. And Iris, like Dumbledore before her, could not do that.

As Hermione retreated through the curtain of purple flames and Harry went through the black, Iris drank her own dose of pre-prepared Boreal Draught, shuddered under the touch of the magical cold that would stop most fires, and followed her temporal twin. Quirrel and his master were prepared to deal with intruders of course; had actually waited Harry to arrive. Unfortunately for them, Iris had had far longer to prepare for this encounter than they. Undetectable under the Cloak of Invisibility and several silencing and concealment charms, she manipulated events to follow the old timeline. As soon as Harry was brought before the Mirror of Erized at Voldemort's request, a Confundus Charm ensured that he believed the Stone had just fallen in his pocket. Harry had no defences against Legilimency at his age, but even Dumbledore and Voldemort could only read in his mind what he believed he had seen, not what was actually true. Thus History repeated itself, and Harry bravely stood against a wizard as foul as he was arrogant. A Stunner in Quirrel's back as soon as he got his slimy little hands on Harry and another Confundus Charm and a sleeping spell on Harry saw Voldemort impotently fleeing his slowly burning servant.

"Is that you, Dumbledore?" The wraith hissed. "So very frightened of me are you, that you show not your face?"

"Projecting on others your own worst fears is a sign of weakness, Tom." Iris couldn't resist replying under a voice-modification charm.

"You old fool!" The wraith all but frothed at the mouth in anger - if he'd had a mouth, that was. "You think you've stopped me? I will get the Stone and I will return, no matter where you hide it. And then we'll see who is weak!"

"Curious you should think so." Iris mused mockingly in Dumbledore's voice. "After all, the Stone was never here. You'll see young Harry's pockets are empty if you look closely enough. No, this was merely a trap you fell in with both feet - so to speak - confirming beyond doubt your own survival and the truth behind the Prophesy. You, even possessing the body of another, could not touch young Harry at all." She sighed theatrically. "Now move along, Tom. As you've so fortuitously explained yourself, someone must willingly share their body with you and I doubt you'll find another within the walls of this castle."

With a wordless wail of wrath, Voldemort's shade fled before the magnitude of his failure. Under the cover of the Cloak of Invisibility, Iris smirked. Beating those oh-so-high-and-mighty wizards with their own failures was so very satisfying... and she'd managed without Harry having to suffer for it like she had in her past. With a spring in her step, she left the Mirror Chamber behind, walked through the curtains of fire, the Troll's horrible stench and the temporarily defunct chessboard.

"Invisible or not I can still find you, Tom." Albus Dumbledore said forcefully as soon as she'd entered the Chamber of Keys. "Did you really believe you could leave with the Philosopher's Stone without having to face me?" The ancient sorcerer stood tall before the Chamber's only exit, the aura of power and menace surrounding him indicating he meant business.

Oh, bugger...


	35. A perfect conclusion

**Hoping I made the duel justice without causing any obvious plot holes or having either duelist be out of character. All magic seen in it except for Iris' custom spell has been seen in the canon books (even that is an application of existing magic), and most of it is Transfiguration. Since it was a real fight rather than Dumbledore delaying Tom until the Aurors arrived, I had him take this fight more seriously rather than idly strolling around and dispensing wisdom. The whole action would have taken less time than reading about it, so imagine how awesome the three-hour-long duel with Grindelwald must have been. Enjoy.**

 **A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. The Gray Maze, Iris' reaction to Harry's attitude is exactly that. On the other hand, she remembers how being kept in the dark and being thrown into such situations had been for her, and can't blame Harry for reacting like that. AlexDnD, iris was indeed holding back against the Troll so she could set up things for Harry and Ron's arrival. everyone, we can't have a story without our heroes being Fate's punchbags. Still, I do try to have every setback, obstacle, and danger appear logically and not just due to the demands of the plot. After all, Iris is no longer guided by prophesy and in fact working against it, and even very intelligent, very experienced characters can and do make mistakes. Don't worry though, this story won't be a canon rehash.**

 **Disclaimer: Is Dumbledore often thought of as forgiving and soft when he announced his intentions to visit on Riddle a fate worse than death, used many people's beliefs and weaknesses for manipulation, sacrificed the lives of 'nameless thousands' to achieve his goals, and sent the closest people he had to a friend and a grandson knowingly to their deaths? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx**

Once upon an aborted future, Iris Potter had been the best duelist in magical Britain, and possibly all of Europe. After winning a brief but brutal magical war through determination, great but untrained talent, loyal friends, but mostly sheer damn luck, she'd spent two and a half decades beating the stupid out of anyone attempting to repeat Voldemort's idiotic plans of domination. Only the endless depths of wizardly (and human in general) stupidity had allowed would-be dark lords to vastly outnumber her and eventually wear magical Britain down.

In the current timeline however, Iris Black had the body of an eleven-year-old girl, uncertain control of her full magical abilities, and was facing a very angry Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The only reason she survived the opening barrage of Dumbledore's patented (not really), silver-beamed greater stunners were her sense of situational awareness having been honed to a razor edge after six years in the company of Britain's greatest living prankster, and reflexes painstakingly improved in countless duels with Britain's most evil living witch. Take that, Umbridge, Fudge, Kingsley, Dawlish, and Weatherby! They'd been taken out by just such an attack without managing to draw their wands.

Which brought up Iris' second major problem after a certain Defeater of Grindelwald trying to remotely and wandlessly Summon every object on her person even while the barrage lasted. While the old perv couldn't steal her wands, mess with her dodging, or remove her knickers due to the anti-summoning spells she'd cast on them at Auntie Cassiopeia's advice, Iris still didn't know which wand to use. The Deathstick would give her a much-needed power boost but Dumbledore was using its past iteration, and both of them were its master. She really didn't want to see what the mother of all Priori Incantantem effects looked like; not only would it immediately reveal her as a time traveller, but it might tear down the entire castle.

A blast of golden light as wide as a tree-trunk made the decision for her, and with a flick of a fifteen-inch rod of elder she unvanished her silver shield in its path. She'd just have to be careful not to directly lock spell against spell. A vast, gong-like sound shook the chamber as gold met silver, followed by a briefer, more concentrated flash of fire as Fawkes fire-ported Dumbledore behind her, the ancient sorcerer already launching another golden blast. Sighing at the unfairness of eternally being Fate's punching bag, Iris used a full Switching Spell on the shield, exchanging its location with her own just on time to block the second attack. Then she recast, switching the shield with Dumbledore, and sent a Nightmare Curse straight in his face. It was blocked of course, but it was the principle of the thing; if she was going to be taken for Tom Riddle, she might as well play her role right.

She had no-one to blame but herself, she thought as both combatants made a tactical withdrawal and settled to a slower-paced but more vicious battle. With the Stone absent and the timing being what it was, the Headmaster had to either assume she was the thief, or guess that someone with precise knowledge of the Stone's defences had removed it without triggering any alarms. She sent several half-formed Cruciatus Curses to disrupt Dumbledore's conjured animated soldiers. It was less power-intensive than vanishing them and allowed her to channel her anger at her own stupidity constructively, in a curiously destructive way. Why did she have to confront Snape in her normal body, then pretend to be Lord Black? Now she couldn't simply discard her Cloak of Invisibility and claim to have just been following Potter for his own good; Dumbledore had strong reason to verify before trusting. Legilimency would reveal at least some of her secrets, and even cursory examination would identify the Deathly Hallows... Dumbledore had carried two of them for decades after all.

Seeing as conjuration wasn't enough to totally overwhelm his opponent, Dumbledore resorted to keys. Specifically Flitwick's flying keys, to which he must have some control over; Iris doubted he or Flamel would use brooms every time they visited. If Flamel ever did; Iris doubted that too. Dumbledore had probably convinced the man into giving up the Stone long before it came to Hogwarts, or something; he was far too good at guilt-tripping via his disappointed grandfather facade. A half-dozen of the diminutive Charms Master's flying keys redirected their attention on Iris. Not needing eyes to see, her invisibility wasn't an issue for them. They would barely be an annoyance normally, but Dumbledore had cast Engorgement Charms before sending them in her direction; being hit by two tons of solid brass flying at over sixty miles an hour was not Iris' idea of fun, so she cast the most powerful counterspell she could, using the Elder Wand.

FINITE INCANTATEM!

The massive keys returned to their original size. Both them and their normal-sized counterparts dropped like so many rocks, their wings no longer animated. Iris' voice-modification, silencing, and secrecy charms ended, as did Dumbledore's shield, his presence and magic revealing spells, some of the flashier decorations on his clothes, and the angry glare in his eyes. Hah! Iris had totally known the ancient sorcerer's too-expressive eyes must be magic, probably his emotions spilling over subconsciously into what lesser wizards (like Lockhart) used cosmetic charms for. Gloating would be counter-productive however. Not only had Iris' voice reverted to its standard girly squeal, but the Hallows and any permanent enchantments created by the Deathstick or magic of similar power had remained unaffected by the general, area-effect counterspell... which meant that Dumbledore would be blind for a few precious seconds while she remained invisible.

Relieved that losing horribly was no longer an immediate concern, Iris pressed her momentary advantage.

 **xxxx**

Albus Dumbledore could say with no false modesty that he was smarter that most of his peers or acquaintances, more experienced than all but two of them, and an exceptionally powerful wizard. That was why he rarely made mistakes, but those mistakes he did make were correspondingly vaster. Mistake number one; sending Harry to live with the Dursleys had hurt the boy, made him mistrustful of authority, and had exposed him to the Blacks. That it had been the only way to prepare him mentally and emotionally for the burden he had to carry while ensuring his safety from dozens of dark wizards in control of much of wizarding Britain was no excuse. Mistake number two; trying to juggle several positions of authority to keep them out of corrupt hands had made him neglect Hogwarts' and Hogsmeade's defences. Inexcusable, as the day's events had proven. Mistake number three; believing that Voldemort's deficiencies of character would never allow him to reach the Stone, even as his detection spells told him it was but a foot away, hidden within a mirror. That last error was the worst, and required immediate rectification.

The Headmaster's detection spells had warned him of the presence and location of really powerful Dark Magic within the Stone's defences. Life Alchemy and a touch Time Magic; that was the Stone itself, considerably muted by being hidden in the mirror chamber. Soul Magic had to be his old student, fallen into darkness. Blood Magic were the protections around young mister Potter, saving his life. That was what he had expected, as he had predicted Arithmantically, the outcome his plans had depended on. His expectations had been horribly overturned when an individual carrying all four of the signatures started moving around the activated defences, while young Harry and what he'd assumed to be Tom's physical vessel remained in the mirror chamber. With Severus and Filius more than enough to round up the last few Lethifolds, he'd immediately called upon Fawkes to take him back to the castle.

The enemy he'd found there was both confusing, and obviously Tom himself. Full, perfect, visual and magical concealment was beyond what even invisibility cloaks could provide; only Tom, Dumbledore himself, and young Harry with the fabled Cloak could manage it that he knew of. _Homenum Revelio_ , an old bit of Soul Magic that wasn't quite dark and that he'd long since mastered showed a female presence in her late forties under that concealment, one touched by possession by an incomplete soul for many years. Even worse, the presence's aura positively reeked of contact with and use of various Dark Arts. The worst was the muted aura of Life Alchemy and Time Magic, evidence that this individual, obviously controlled by Tom even if not possessed at that moment, had the Stone hidden upon their person. Tom could not be allowed to flee Hogwarts with it, no matter what. Thus he'd engaged the intruder in magical combat.

The results of their duel so far had been surprising. Not only his foe seemed to favour a mixture of Transfiguration and the Dark Arts, but they had an answer to his every attempt to stop them. They were obviously quick and powerful, a better opponent than any of Tom's servants had been during the decade-long war, but not up to his level. Fortunately, Tom's currently occupied physical form did not seem to possess his full abilities. Unfortunately, Dumbledore knew the fate of all those opening themselves up to evil; the poor soul sharing their body with his former student could not be saved. They possibly could have, if Dumbledore brewed some Elixir of Life for them, but that assumed he could manage to capture Tom's host, and that Tom's spirit would not immediately and violently abandon their captured vessel; that was never going to happen. So Dumbledore duelled on, determined to give them a quick and merciful end while banishing Tom's spirit from the castle.

Rapid and surprise nonlethal attack had failed. So had every attempt to disarm them, or layer a major binding upon them. Conjured troops had been met with Unforgivables that tore through magical constructs, and Fawkes' boost to his mobility had been matched, surprisingly, with innovative use of third-year transfiguration. Fortunately, switching charms required line of sight so they could not get out of the chamber outright. It was as if his foe knew the tactics and tricks he normally employed and had specifically prepared against them; wise of Tom to do so when limited to a host body with less power, but frustrating. So Albus Dumbledore let go of fifty years of formal, formalized dueling tactics and reached for his chaotic past and the brutal assaults of his battles with Grindelwald and the several angry duels with a much younger Aberforth before their sibling bond was permanently shattered.

A conjured animated soldier charged the enemy's position. The sickly red bolt of the Cruciatus passed harmlessly through nothing but air as the Geminio Curse split one soldier to two identical copies again and again every time a new attack was directed against them. The vanishing spell that followed only made the now four animated soldiers flicker... and multiply by ten as the vanishment's energy was absorbed and used to fuel the increase in numbers. True, multiplication of any spell effect divided the total duration by an equal factor and was limited to what spells it could affect, but the original conjuration and animation would have lasted a day; a reduction to merely half an hour would still cover the entire duel. Reaching their destination, the soldiers didn't bother with attacking. Transfiguration of energy to energy was hard but rewarding... and it allowed him to transform the truncated animation charms into moderate blasting curses.

Somehow, Tom had anticipated even that and employed elemental to animate Transfiguration to change the fiery explosions into a small army of large snakes that immediately launched themselves upon him. Flicking the Deathstick, he tried to break the stalemate by ending the spell-constructs with a Finishing Charm only to have a strange, sickly-green liquid surround one of them. That one snake endured when the others vanished with a loud pop, and a quick spell-chain confirmed that the snake could no longer be transfigured, vanished, parted, forcibly moved, or have its nature altered in any way. It struck against a newly erected shield like a spell more than a physical construct, and Dumbledore wondered at the amount of power needed to cast and maintain such a protective spell without ritualistic preparation. Tom seemed to be unable to both maintain it and launch other attacks against him, but that was cold comfort; he could still use it as a distraction to escape. Forcing through his wand his disappointment at his failures, his anger at the senseless murder perpetuated by Tom and others like him, his simmering fury at what the wizarding world could have been, he cast Fiendfyre. A small, neat, controlled burst but no less destructive and all-consuming for its small size; the sickly-green aura around the construct resisted for a few seconds and then both it and the snake were gone as if they'd never been.

Taking advantage of his foe's concentration being shattered by the magical backlash, Dumbledore renewed his revealing charms, shielded them from being easily ended, and reasserted control of the duel. It was time to end this.

 **xxxx**

Iris wondered when the "For the Greater Good" ideology would rear its ugly head; casting Fiendfyre within Hogwarts was not something she'd have contemplated. Then again, Dumbledore certainly was powerful enough and had affinity with fire enough to control it, and didn't have Iris' near-death experience with it and Crabbe's idiocy to make him reconsider. Her hasty, half-arsed replica of Riddle's defences on the underground lake did not stand a chance. Of course, by the time she'd been forced to fight Dumbledore on anywhere close to even terms she had already lost, as the far more experienced sorcerer had just proven by seizing control of the duel once more. No matter what Iris had tried so far it had not given her enough time to retreat, and she'd only remained standing was future knowledge and pulling off every last trick she could think of. Short of using large-scale destructive magic to literally blast a way out, there was no way she could keep fending off a determined Dumbledore for long. And with several hundred children in the castle, that was not an option... or was it?

Leaving a few self-replicating, moderately-defended constructs behind to gain her a few precious seconds, she dodged under a barrage of silver bolts, ducked behind one of the arching columns supporting the vast cavernous room, hit Fawkes with a Blasting Curse to momentarily inconvenience him and prevent him from enhancing Dumbledore's mobility, then cast one of the spells she'd personally invented in the aborted future. Well, 'invented' was a strong word; 'modified' was closer to the truth.

A wide, circular gesture with the Deathstick had a wrist-thick beam of utter darkness rotating outwards from her position. A sound like a thousand Dementors taking a deep breath covered every other noise at once, hurricane-force winds sucking keys, broken constructs, torn clothing, and other debris into the beam. Where the darkness touched any object, the object was simply gone; three-inch gaps were torn through constructs, shields, support pillars, even walls. Where an object broke up, it simply collapsed into the beam without trace. Affectionately called "Blacklance" by the future Auror corps, the spell could cut through most any physical obstacle as if it weren't there, up to and including casually severing limbs or devouring entire bodies, and while it could be blocked, it was powerful enough to go through most shields. It also happened to be not some obscure and despicable Dark Magic as rumours insisted, but a simple if extremely powerful partial vanishing spell. Three inches thick and dozens of yards long, it was far from the largest volume ever vanished; that record belonged to Rufus Fudge's vanishment of an entire subway train, along with a year-long conviction to Azkaban for blatant breach of the Statute of Secrecy. But it vanished anything in it, the vacuum it created causing the huge and frightening suction effect as well as making it black by absorbing light. Compared to some of the more dangerous battle spells out there it wasn't that destructive, but it was surprising, extremely effective against constructs or inferi, and perfect for what she had in mind.

A half-dozen support pillars cut apart and gaping holes torn into the surrounding walls, the chamber of keys shook. More importantly, the floors of the castle above it did the same, and the damage could not be fixed with repairing spells as sections of the stone were entirely gone. With an ominous groan, the ceiling shook again, the very structure of the castle beginning to bend.

 **xxxx**

Albus Dumbledore saw Tom's plan with alarming clarity. This had no impact on its effectiveness. As the floors of Hogwarts above their heads creaked and rumbled ominously, he was forced to divert much of his magic to holding them up. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tower were not close enough for their collapse to be certain, but neither were far enough for the safety of hundreds of students to be assured. Slytherin and Hufflepuff would remain mostly unaffected by a potential cave-in in this portion of the castle, but the same could not be said for several Professors' quarters, the House-elves' rooms, and hundreds of unoccupied but still valuable chambers, classes, corridors, and passages. Fighting with himself, Dumbledore finally admitted that his foe's ploy had succeeded; students' lives and the integrity of Hogwarts were more important than the Philosopher's Stone. Even if Dumbledore had believed in sacrificing them to prevent Tom's victory, a major collapse here would also kill him, Tom's host, and poor Harry... while Tom's spirit escaped to try anew with no Chosen One to stop him.

That, however, did not mean Dumbledore would allow Tom to leave with his prize. Redirecting his own constructs to help support the immense weight overhead now that they'd defeated the opposition, he waited for precisely the right moment, hoping that Tom would not suddenly see what he had and decide to force the collapse, Stone be damned. In his arrogance, his old student did not disappoint him; with much of his own efforts focused on preventing the collapse and repairing the damage, Tom attempted to flee, and Dumbledore took the opportunity to give him one parting gift. A few seconds later, Tom's vessel disappeared from the detection and revealing enchantments he'd added to the obstacle course. He could not kill Tom thanks to the Prophesy, but he could delay him and prevent him from using the stolen Stone. Sighing in relief at this favourable conclusion to their duel, he turned all his efforts into restoring Hogwarts' structural integrity and, once he was done, checking upon poor Harry's condition.

 **xxxx**

It took Iris some time to realize Dumbledore's frantic parting shot had not been a miss, and by then she had run all the way to the Slytherin common room under the Cloak of Invisibility. But when the strange, numb, slowly intensifying ache in her right foot had her stumbling and losing her balance, she collapsed on one of the comfortable, snake-adorned armchairs in the common room and took a look. She immediately wished she hadn't, nausea hitting her so strongly that she almost lost dinner and lunch both.

Her boot looked like it had been burned away at the heel, where Dumbledore's spell had struck. Removing it had revealed greying skin, blackened veins, emaciated muscle... her foot looked like it had died. Even worse the curse was slowly expanding, already halfway to her knee. The only reason she wasn't screaming her lungs out, she supposed, was because dead nerves couldn't feel much. She vaguely recalled the droning voice of a ghost from long ago, Binns answering the only questions that had ever been asked by students in History of Magic. _Just because a witch or wizard doesn't use Dark Magic, doesn't mean they don't know how to._ Albus Dumbledore, Defeater of Grindelwald, defender of muggleborns, and foe of all dark wizards had used the Withering Curse on her. It was almost certainly the lesser Withering Curse and not fully latched on her life-force so amputation would work... if she truly intended to get rid of the limb for good. But even so she'd be like Moody for good, beyond magical healing. Not to mention she had to perform the amputation on her own. No, thank you.

With shaking hands, she fumbled in her potions belt for a certain emergency vial... but paused. As the curse reached her right knee, she vanished both boots, did the same to her robes, thoroughly cleaned herself from the dust, grime, and sweat from the recent duel, permanently transfigured one of her hair into a nightgown, and banished all thee Hallows back to her trunk. Then she retrieved the vial with the Elixir of Life, spelled it to vanish once empty, and brought it to her lips.

Judging from Bellatrix's reaction, this was going to well and truly hurt. Re-experiencing pain of a lifetime in exchange for ensuring Harry and the others survived without permanent damage, and that wizarding Britain would not lose an artifact that could save countless lives. No good deed goes unpunished... but she'd made her choice.


	36. A perfect aftermath

**Thank you for your reviews, everyone. Iris did not need to follow Harry and the others down the trapdoor as the Stone had been removed months before. She still wanted to make absolutely certain they survived though, instead of leaving it up to Harry's luck and the prophesy. Harry's her temporal twin and the others are her friends; she's not as willing to use others as Dumbledore. As for how she fled once Dumbledore was indisposed, Featherweight charm and jumping. The rest are explained in the chapter below.**

 **Important Notice: part of this chapter is out of the Philosopher's Stone (the section in italics)**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Weasleys visit or even say anything to Ron after the Philosopher's Stone fiasco, when they frantically visited and fussed over Ginny for a similarly potentially lethal situation? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling as this story is entirely free and non-profit.**

 **xxxx**

The first thing Harry saw when he woke up was the colour white. White ceiling, white walls, what might have been white cabinets, though he couldn't be certain without his glasses. For a brief, dreadful moment he thought he was back in aunt Petunia's kitchen, and must have passed out from exhaustion during his chores. Then his mind woke up fully and he remembered he was a wizard... and that it had been years since he'd last done too many chores with too little food. Relief flooded in welcome waves; he must be in Hogwarts, probably in the infirmary. Then fear; where was Voldemort? What had happened to the Stone?

"Ah, Harry! You're awake." A jovial old voice said and he turned around to find the tall, silver-bearded, magenta-robed figure of the Headmaster approaching.

"Sir! Quirrel! The Stone! What..."

"Calm down Harry." The Headmaster said gently. "Quite a few things have come to pass since you were last awake. Professor Quirrel does not have the Philosopher's Stone, and you and your friends are safe now... from physical or magical danger that is. I dare say you violated quite a few school regulations during your midnight excursion."

"Professor McGonagal did not believe us, sir." Harry rushed to explain. "And since you were gone..."

"Ah yes. Voldemort did come up with a rather ingenious distraction." The old wizard's voice was sad and serious all of a sudden. "So much so that we all thought it was the real attack. After all, he did try to have you and your friends killed in the exact same manner."

"You mean, that monster Professor Snape killed came back?" Harry said, rather alarmed.

"Not the same one my boy, but many others like it. And while we adults were indisposed protecting the villagers of Hogsmeade from them, Voldemort and his servants went after the Stone." He smiled down at Harry so widely that even without his glasses Harry could hardly miss it. "But as luck would have it, you and your friends managed to delay him long enough for us to return."

"And the Stone? Quirrel?"

"I see you are persistent." Professor Dumbledore said kindly, letting him know he didn't mind. "Alas, Professor Quirrel chose to share his body and his life with someone that cared not at all for either. When Voldemort retreated poor Quirinus was left too weak, too damaged to survive. Like most who fall to darkness, Voldemort has no more love for his loyal and devoted servants than he does for anyone else, for love is the one thing he cannot truly understand." The old wizard gave Harry a moment to think about that, before continuing. "As for the Stone, it was lost during the fight between Voldemort and myself... probably for the best."

"Lost?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend — Nicolas Flamel —"

 _"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."_

 _"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"_

 _"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face. "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all — the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."_

 _Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling._

 _"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking…sir — even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who —"_

 _"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."_

 _"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"_

 _"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."_

 _Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me…things I want to know the truth about.…"_

 _"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me_. And I would like to ask you a few things myself."

 _"Well…Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"_

 _Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time. "Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older…I know you hate to hear this…when you are ready, you will know." And Harry knew it would be no good to argue._

 _"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"_

 _"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."_

 _Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak — do you know who sent it to me?"_

 _"Ah — your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things…your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."_

 _"And there's something else…"_

 _"Fire away."_

"Who ended the fight between Quirrel and myself, sir?" Harry asked earnestly. "Was it you? Was it Professor Snape?"

"Ah, Harry, now that is one question I'd like an answer to as well." Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his face darkening.

"Sir?" Harry asked again when several minutes passed with neither of them speaking, the ancient wizard obviously deep in thought.

"Voldemort did not escape the castle as a wraith, Harry." The Headmaster said solemnly. "He was in possession of another victim, one physically and magically strong enough to host him and duel me, if not in equal terms, then well enough to escape."

"What?" Harry's blood froze in his veins at the revelation. Someone, somewhere, now had Lord Voldemort at the back of their head... and free rein of magical Britain! Quirrel had lasted for a whole year like that; Harry could not even begin to imagine what Voldemort would get up to in that time, and didn't really want to. "But sir, if that person was there, without me seeing them... why did they just Stun me? Why not kill me instead?"

"An interesting question." Dumbledore frowned. "Perhaps so soon after his first victim was burned by your touch, Voldemort did not want to brave your mother's protection once again. He did have Quirrel try to kill you physically instead of magically after all." Harry could feel the Headmaster's stare on him... it was rather uncomfortable. "Harry, how did you know this other wizard stunned you?"

"I... do not know." The young Gryffindor tried to remember with all his might, but the end of his fight with Quirrell was very blurry in his memories. "I thought I saw a red light... the exact shade of red as the Stunning Spell. But maybe I remembered wrong..."

"No my boy, you are exactly correct." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Someone did cast a Stunning Spell, but not at you. The residue of such magic was found on Quirrell himself, while you were found under powerful mind magic... the effects of which we're not entirely certain of."

"Oh." Harry tried to think things through, but his head hurt... and the end of the fight refused to make sense.

"An interesting mystery, is it not?" Dumbledore seemed to agree with him. "If I may ask, my boy, where did you learn about the Stunning Spell?"

"Iris taught us." Harry blurted, then blushed at his lack of discretion. After all, the unofficial Slytherin-Gryffindor dueling club was not exactly allowed by the school rules. "I mean, she's been tutoring Neville, Ron, Hermione, and I since almost the beginning of the year." Better not to mention the other Slytherins, or his private lessons with Iris before they both arrived at the school.

"Indeed?" Dumbledore once again sounded quite delighted. "It would seem Miss Black has been quite industrious of late. She is a friend of yours, then?"

"Yes, Professor." Harry said eagerly, seeing as the old wizard did not intend to question him further on what exactly those 'tutoring sessions' included. "I mean, she's nice, and very smart, and we're related too!"

"Yes, the Black family has ties to almost every major Noble House in Britain and several in France and Germany as well." The Headmaster's tone had changed once again, though Harry couldn't tell if it was to the better. "Does Miss Black treat you and your friends well then?"

"Of course!" Harry said indignantly, but not entirely truthfully. Iris often was rather blunt and overbearing with... pretty much everyone, as far as he'd seen. But she was also caring, and understanding, and every time she pushed the rest of them she did it for their own good. "Though she likes to tease Ron too much by calling him cousin, and annoys Hermione to no end by pointing out how wizards and logic don't mix."

"I see." The Headmaster paused again, and just when the silence was beginning to become uncomfortable he went on in a much more serious tone. "I regret to inform you, Harry, that your friend Iris was attacked at the same night you went after the Philosopher's Stone... and she's yet to recover."

"What?!" Harry almost jumped off his bed, but a wave of dizziness convinced him that would be a bad idea. "Professor what happened? Is she..."

"She is out of danger, my boy, but her recovery will take weeks still. We believe that... one of Voldemort's unwitting victims attacked her. There were remnants of powerful dark magic on her, though not enough to identify the spell used. Madam Pomfrey believes only time and rest will help her... potions don't seem to be having any effect."

"Is she here, sir? Can I see her?" The knowledge that Iris had been hurt by Quirrell, or even Voldemort himself, weighed heavily on the young wizard. Could it have been avoided if only Harry had shared his suspicions about the Stone, Voldemort, the entire series of events? Was Iris' predicament his fault for listening to Ron and keeping her in the dark after everything she and the Black family had done for him? Maybe... maybe he'd let Gryffindor prejudice against Slytherin and the House of Black influence him against his cousin in the past year and if that was the outcome... he didn't know if Iris would ever forgive him.

"You still need to rest, Harry - Madam Pomfrey's orders." The old wizard smiled at him. "But I can't see why you couldn't visit Miss Black afterwards. She might have even recovered enough to wake up by then so all your friends could visit her."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said without paying much attention to anything else but his own darkening thoughts. The veritable mountain of sweets and gifts from his many admirers lay forgotten by his bedside...

 **xxxx**

The gates of Hogwarts were enchanted to repel many dangers, from rampaging dark creatures, to would-be Dark Lords. But that day came an invasion unlike any other... and the castle's gates proved insufficient.

 _"Deprimo!"_

The Tunnelling Charm was primarily used for demolitions of magical buildings and openings of new mineshafts and tunnels, as its name implied. Even when cast by inexperienced witches and wizards it could easily tear down a wizarding home. Backed by the power, determination, and more than a bit of anger of a witch of Cassiopeia Black's power and experience, it could tear through any defences except Hogwarts' own when put in lock-down by the Headmaster. Not seeing the current state of the Black Heiress as that important however, Albus Dumbledore had neglected to fortify the defences to their fullest.

 _"Deletrius!"_

The Disintegration Spell destroyed magical constructs. As the winged boar statues flanking the gate came to life and multiple secondary defensive spells activated, its sufficiently powerful iteration by Callidora Longbottom nee Black reduced them all to dust. Apparently, she found her great-grandson risking his life in a trap set by the Headmaster for the Dark Lord impressive for a first-year student... but not at all amusing as far as said Headmaster's actions were concerned.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The metal of the gate itself was goblin-forged and further enchanted to make it nigh-indestructible... except there were curses that ignored all but the most powerful magical defences. And with the physical form of the gate being rather flimsy, it was easily blasted apart when Cedrella Weasley nee Black demonstrated a proper and legal use of the Killing Curse against inanimate targets. Having one of her beloved great-grandchildren nearly being killed by his own Head of House via a giant chess set had been a nasty shock. Having to hear about it from her Black cousin instead of the faculty contacting the family had been illuminating as it had been infuriating.

The three furious witches marched through the Hogwarts grounds, immobilized Hagrid the Gamekeeper, stuck the annoying squib caretaker whose name they'd never bothered to learn up a wall like the bug he was, and walked straight towards the staff room. Fortunately for the castle's continued integrity, the targets of their ire were present. Unfortunately for Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagal, and Severus Snape, the targets of their ire were themselves.

The "discussion" that followed was the most intriguing, alarming, and entertaining the rest of the faculty had ever listened to, and Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout would be requesting access to the Hogwarts Pensieve multiple times in the future just to relive that one event. After being threatened with an army of inferi, an army of semi-sentient killer plants, Rita Skeeter, and the Auror office (in that order), Albus Dumbledore wisely admitted defeat and acquiesced to all demands, reasonable or otherwise.

After all, Reason, like History, was decided on by the victors.

 **xxxx**

"That was a total, absolute mess." Severus Snape grumbled in the safety of the Headmaster's office. The Black women had left hours ago - but maybe that was only what they wanted them to think. Maybe they were lulling them all into a false sense of security before enchanting the Forbidden Forest to uproot itself, march up to the castle, and tear it to the ground. It wasn't as if that had not happened before; a famous Quidditch player had paid some dark wizards to do the same to the stadium after his team lost a match in the World Cup, and it had taken thousands of wizards over seven hours to fight their way free of the mess.

"A bit of an overreaction, but we can hardly blame them for it." Dumbledore said tiredly. "Their families youngest children were in mortal peril and it was our fault."

"You can't be serious, Headmaster!" The Potions Master said incredulously. "Those... those women threatened to tear my soul apart with the weight of my past crimes, feed the pieces one by one to a Dementor, and keep the last piece in buried their vault for as long as the House of Black endured."

"I doubt they were being serious, Severus." The infuriatingly calm old man admonished him, and Snape gritted his teeth. Contrary to his nominal patron's naive beliefs, Cassiopeia Black was more than capable and willing to carry out her threat... especially with her little brat still in the hospital wing.

"The Black girl has yet to recover, Headmaster." He reminded him. Dumbledore knew, of course, but perhaps pointing out the obvious might make him take the whole situation a bit more seriously... though Severus doubted it. "We still haven't identified the dark magic used to hurt her. All we can do is keep her unconscious during her recovery so she does not lose her mind to the pain." Pain strong enough to occasionally wake her even from the coma induced by the Draught of Living Death, something Severus had never seen before. He had no idea what the Black girl was experiencing, and he really, really, did not want to.

"That is probably what Tom had in mind when he attacked her." The old man belaboured the obvious once again. "As revenge perhaps..."

"Revenge?" Snape sneered. "Black is a veritable menace for a witch her age, but I doubt the Dark Lord would find her more than an annoyance."

"Against me, Severus, not the girl." Dumbledore walked to his Pensieve and started adding silvery tufts of memories to it with his wand. "I gave my old student a little parting gift during our duel. He is now using the Blacks to indirectly return the favour."

"Why would he do that?" He must have been missing something, for the entire situation made no sense. Dumbledore and his blasted secrets! "He had the Stone, and a strong, healthy host. Why make a detour to the Slytherin dormitories instead of walking out victorious?"

"Because he had neither." Dumbledore explained, prodding the not-quite-liquid in the Pensieve until it formed a clear image. Snape hissed in recognition... and newfound respect for the old sorcerer. "As you can see, I ensured Tom's host would fail him only minutes after his retreat. Certainly not enough time to brew the Elixir of Life or put any other plan into motion. And without a physical body, he could not hold on to the Stone either... which reminds me, Severus. Did you find anything in the Slytherin Dormitories or the castle grounds?"

"No signs of a corpse or a discarded Philosopher's Stone, if that's what you're asking." He was still in shock, his sarcasm not up to his usual standards. He'd never expected Albus Dumbledore to ever use dark magic... though in hindsight he shouldn't have. He had relied on Blood Magic to ensure the safety of the Potter brat, after all.

"Then he Apparated away before his host died." Dumbledore stated. "Which means he knows where the Stone is now while we do not. As soon as he finds another wizard to possess, he'll recover it and return."

"Those willing to be possessed do not grow on trees." Snape countered. "We probably have some time."

"Far less than we once did, I'm afraid." Dumbledore said, head shaking. "The Order will need to be informed. As for you, Severus, you know what I am going to ask. If you're willing... if you're able..."

"I am."

He wasn't. But what choice did he have?


	37. A perfect confession

**Another chapter that answers multiple reader questions, and the conclusion to year 1. You guys have fun and remember; Dumbledore is not evil, just damaged by a tragic past and a little bit full of himself.**

 **Disclaimer: Did any adult authority ever tell off Harry and co on how enormously dangerous all their adventures were? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely for fun and free.**

 **xxxx**

"You. Are. Not. Immortal."

That statement, delivered in a voice as cold as Hermione's future experiments with cryogenic suspension, was not the best thing to wake up to after the ordeal she'd had, Iris thought. A hard face, full of sharp angles and high cheekbones, with large, heavy-lidded eyes stared down at her, weathered but still beautiful. Silver hair framed it, and the voice issuing forth from it was no longer as crystal clear as it would have been fifty years ago.

"You are a child - nay, an infant who has yet to understand the fragility of life, let alone realize the truth of their own mortality!" Cassiopeia Black hissed angrily, the same obsidian dome of magic her cousin Arcturus had used separating their corner of the Hogwarts infirmary from the rest of the world. "One with delusions of heroism that thinly conceal an utter absence of common sense!" Almost blown up like a puffer-fish by her towering anger, bringing back half-forgotten memories of Aunt Marge to Iris, the old sorceress made a visible attempt at control before continuing. "Did you even consider the risks before drinking that blasted Elixir while under one of the worst curses known to wizard-kind? What possessed you to meddle in something that put you before the wand of anyone who could cast it?"

"Quirrel was possessed, actually." The young witch groaned, her head still feeling as if it was being crushed by a muggle trash compactor. "And what was I supposed to do, shrivel up like a mummy or cut off my own leg?" She returned her grandmother's glare with interest. "And how come you know what I was cursed with? Madam Pomfrey had no idea."

"I've been studying the Dark Arts longer than that half-blood with delusions of conquest has been alive, you insolent brat." She sighed. "And you should have excised the cursed limb and obliterated it with Fiendfyre before applying the Elixir, yes. As long as that curse was on a part of you, tied to you with flesh and blood and bone, it was supposed to be incurable; it's a miracle even the Elixir worked at all." She scowled, the lines carved by time upon her face making an appearance despite her own dose of Elixir having healed all physical defects. To those that didn't know better, Cassiopeia Black now looked like a woman of forty-five with premature white hair... exactly as a witch of her power and age should look if her magic and emotions remained vital. Wizarding life expectancy had caught Iris by surprise in her previous life, since she'd never been taught about it in Hogwarts. Her grandmother was only seventy-seven and with the so-called Black curse removed she no longer appeared as old as Professor Marchbanks who'd probably been born sometime before the Pyramids were built.

"What I do not understand is why your reaction was not only bad, but also lasted so long. Bellatrix was only down for a few minutes according to her description and even Arcturus recovered after an hour and a half." She begun a full check-up of her 'errant' great-niece, not only with spells but also physically taking her pulse, checking her eyes and tongue, and shifting Iris' head to see it from every angle. The future Head Auror turned child bore the invasive treatment stoically, knowing that to interrupt would only make things worse. "No, still can't see it. The traces of the Withering Curse are almost too faint to detect after over a month, and whatever other lingering auras must have once existed are gone. Even the Elixir's magic is entirely spent, while traces of it can be found in Arcturus and I half a year later."

"Really?" That was very good, if true. Iris had a good idea why Dumbledore had confused her with Tom and had been lucky her family had not cast so strong detection magic on her before. Even after Tom's death in the future and Hermione suggesting plastic surgery to remove the scar she'd grown to hate, an echo, a side-effect of all her years being a Horcrux had remained. The Elixir must have erased all traces of it even as it fought to restore her... and failed. Strange as it was, the Black heiress was glad she'd not reverted to an adult. Not due to the trouble it would have caused but because she was beginning to enjoy her second childhood. The elder Black sorceress was still looking for answers though, so Iris had to do something about that... and outright lying was not an option.

"Well, I got into a lot of fights in my time." She said with a carefully careless shrug. "If the Elixir makes you relive all past harm..."

"More fights than Bellatrix or I?" The older woman raised one silver eyebrow questioningly. "We both fought in wars, you know."

"Sure, but I trained students once." Beating a new Auror Corps into shape had been as hard as it had been ultimately futile. "One duel with each per day... about twenty years..." She counted, her eyes widening at the result. She'd never really considered just how much she'd fought in her life, in training or as sport and not just for life and death. "Well, a hundred and fifty thousand duels sure makes for a lot of injuries." Cassiopeia seemed to agree too, if her briefly gaping like a fish was any indication. This whole interrogation disguised as familial worry suddenly became worth it for that image alone.

"Well, that explains everything." The older woman said drily. "Who needs the Black insanity if they're already crazy." Shaking her head, the old sorceress rose to her full height and begun to dismantle the various secrecy enchantments she'd cast. "This is not over young lady. We'll continue the discussion after I fill in Arcturus... and you've had several sessions with a Mind Healer."

"Figures." Iris grumbled again. "Do we have anyone we trust?"

"My grand-nephew has been pestering Arcturus and me about the Tonkses. Andromeda is probably qualified and this might be a good time to reintroduce her to the family." Both of Iris' eyebrows shot up to her hairline at that announcement. Andromeda, Sirius, and Bellatrix under the same roof... this ought to be fun. "Now, listen here you little hellion." Cassiopeia Black admonished her as the obsidian dome vanished and the rest of the infirmary reappeared. "You get some rest. No stress, no heroics, no strong magic, and absolutely no duels. I didn't arrange for you to sit the yearly exams in late August only to have you gad about the castle with your little club, teaching them battle-magic. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." It was the only answer, really. As the old sorceress walked away, Iris wondered how she'd found out about the Fight Club.

 **xxxx**

"Oh Iris, it was horrible!" Harry whined as he, Neville, Ron, Hermione, Lillian, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco walked into the hidden Fight Club meeting room in unison, causing her to do a double-take. Not only had Iris never whined as a child, but she'd never shown solidarity with the likes of pansy and Draco in the aborted future. Her temporal twin was right; something terrible had happened.

"I didn't know any Weasley could be so..." Draco shuddered without finishing the sentence. The others copied him, even the usually stoic Lillian breaking composure.

"You're lucky, Malfoy." Ron said glumly. "She is not your Grandmother."

"Better you than us, Weasel." The blond ponce made a brave attempt at a sneer, but it fell flat. Pansy made as if to join in with an insult of opportunity, then her face turned crimson and she closed her mouth without saying a word. The pug-faced girl was walking suspiciously gingerly and wincing every so often, her hands holding her backside when she thought nobody was looking.

"It... it was barbaric!" Hermione spoke up, hair frizzing at the magnitude of her indignation. "Positively medieval! Being treated like... like..." She had a shifting pose similar to Pansy's, for some reason finding it hard to stand up as straight as she usually did. Blaize and Lillian were rather subdued, too, far too silent and forlorn to be their normal chatty selves. And Neville... one of her best and bravest future friends now looked as timid as he had right before the Sorting, or even possibly worse.

"Let me guess." Iris looked at all of them critically. "Grandma Cassiopeia cornered you for information and you mouthed off to her."

"Not only her." Neville said in a small voice. "My great-gran Callidora and Ron's great-gran Cedrella joined in too, and started 'lecturing'. Then Hermione and Pansy err... provoked them." The two girls in question stared daggers at the boy. Iris rolled her eyes and rapped them smartly in their backsides with very weak, wandless banishing spells. Their yelping and jumping totally out of proportion to the soft blows confirmed Iris' suspicions of their fate.

"Figures." Iris said lightly trying not to giggle. She really did. The others really had no excuse for the wounded looks or furious glares they sent her way... honestly! "Hmm, in the interest of family loyalty and common sense, I'll say you had it coming."

"WHAT!?"

She rolled her eyes at the over-exaggerated indignant reply, especially Harry's mutinous scowl.

"Seriously, people. Fighting Voldemort over the Philosopher's Stone is a little bit above our year as far as extracurricular activities go, yes?" The Gryffindors had the decency to look guilty, but every other Slytherin present just gaped at her.

"Excuse me, I think I misheard." Lillian said with a false smile. "Did you just put the Dark Lord, fighting, and Philosopher's Stone in the same sentence?"

"Yep." Iris smirked at the too-cute flustered eleven-year-old girl. "Our very own Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, discovered that the Dark Lord had survived their previous encounter. Not only that, but he and these great Gryffindors present also found out about an artifact that provided infinite wealth and life hidden in this very castle and logically assumed that the Dark Lord wanted to steal it." Harry was now glaring at her too, while all the other Gryffindors present looked even more guilty. "Instead of exercising common sense and contacting proper authorities the moment they suspected the Dark Lord was even alive, they decided to take it upon themselves to stop the darkest wizard in Britain."

"Are you pulling our leg, Black?" Draco demanded. "Potter and his friends got punished for messing up some obstacle course the Professors were testing for the Auror training program. They didn't do what insanity you're saying they did! Are you blacks all crazy or something?"

"Don't think much of your mother, do you Draco?" Iris smirked. "As for my claims, it is time I taught you a very useful bit of magic; memory extraction. It's used in witness testimonies and it allows a witch or wizard to externally store - and with the right tools share - their memories and experiences."

"Your grandmother told us you wouldn't be teaching us any more magic this year." Hermione said, having to struggle with herself to utter the words. Iris' oldest future friend had always had a voracious appetite for knowledge; Memory Extraction was the kind of magic she'd do almost anything to learn. Apparently, crossing Cassiopeia Black was one of the few things she wouldn't do, along with killing, or getting expelled.

"Nope. She told me not to teach you any more dueling and battle-magic." Her smile widened. "Memory Extraction is neither and while quite complex, it doesn't require much power."

"Always a Slytherin." Harry mumbled, then spoke up. "Iris, how did you know all this? And if you did... why are you telling everyone?"

"Excuse me, Potter?" Lillian glared at the boy sharply. "I would like to be informed of things that could potentially get me killed!"

"That's precisely the point, Harry." Iris said in a far friendlier manner. "Keeping such information secret is wrong and can hurt a lot of people... but sharing it with people you don't trust is also dangerous."

"And you trust Malfoy?!" Ron interjected incredulously.

"Oh yes." Iris smirked at the blond dandy in question. "His family very publicly renounced the Dark Lord. He won't forgive them, and there's a good chance he'd want revenge if he ever regains his power. Besides, a peaceful wizarding Britain is more profitable for the Purebloods... and more survivable. That is why the House of Black turned against the Dark Lord; he personally destroyed more Pureblood families than any other." And there came the moment Iris had been waiting for since she'd formed this club; sowing ideas directly into the scions of several influential Pureblood families, ideas they'd share with their parents, ideas that would be slowly spread among the Purebloods. That the ideas were the truth was an added bonus. That done, she had one major concern to deal with.

"As for how I knew, Harry..." Iris pouted. "I can understand why you didn't trust me enough to share given my House, but it's high time you learned things you keep to yourself are not necessarily safe."

"What do you mean?" The boy asked suspiciously, probably more than a bit hurt at their recent interaction. After overcoming the shock of first meeting him, Iris had loved Harry like a younger brother. She'd helped him, protected him, taught him. But the prejudices of the wizarding world in general and Hogwarts in particular had forced a wedge between them, a wedge Iris was pushing in a bit deeper every time she chose to treat Harry honestly but harshly. She wished she could save him from all the darkness and horror she'd had to go through, but she was not sure she could. And for that reason she could not afford to give him lies and half-truths, no matter how much better they'd make him feel. That had been one of Dumbledore's biggest mistakes and she refused to repeat it. But with a little bit of luck, she might soon be able to give him a family...

"Powerful wizards can delve into the minds of others, Harry. They can learn to sense emotions, surface thoughts, even look for memories. Someone talented enough doesn't need to use a wand and incantations to do it either." She waited for the Gryffindors to digest the information and the horror to appear on their faces. The Slytherins, of course, already knew. "That is how Professor Snape usually knows when you're lying to him."

"He... he reads minds?!" Ron gasped. "Fred and George were right!"

"At least some Weasleys have a modicum of cunning." Pansy sniffed, and was largely ignored.

"Can you do it?" Harry looked at Iris in question, dreading the answer.

"Not nearly as well as Grandma Cassiopeia, or probably great aunts Cedrella and Callidora either." She shrugged. "Most powerful wizards can. Have you never wondered how the Headmaster seems to know almost everything that's going on in the castle?"

"But that's illegal! It must be!" Hermione cried out. "To look into someone's mind like that is..."

"No more illegal than an adult seeing through the deceptions of a small child." Iris corrected her. "We learn how to cook someone alive or cut them to pieces as eleven-year-olds, Hermione. To use a muggle analogy, we're given not a gun but heavy military ordnance when we turn eleven. No amount of laws would work in a society like that if its members weren't taught to defend themselves, which is why we are taught DADA... or at least we should be."

"So there are ways to stop it?" Harry asked eagerly. His encounter with Voldemort had included Legilimency after all, Riddle having sufficiently high mastery of it to do a surface reading without even line of sight. Now that Harry knew how Riddle had known about him lying, of course he was eager to prevent it from happening again.

"Yes." Iris nodded. "Lillian and I know rudimentary Occlumency - the art of shielding our minds from external penetration."

"Hey, you peeked!" The other girl said and pouted prettily, not really offended. She was too practical to blame her for using any available advantage.

"Could you teach us?" Hermione blurted, speaking at the same time as Lillian.

"You need to master basic meditation first." Iris said to the other children's disappointment. "Fortunately, I do happen to have a few books on the subject." Tapping her wand once, she cancelled the Shrinking Charm on the brown paper cube an inch across she'd retrieved from her pocket. It became a heavy pack of books, eight copies of _'Praxis Obscurae Mentalis',_ an Occlumency tome she'd found in the Room of Requirement and duplicated. It was not a small book, containing instructions and suggested exercises from the level of a raw initiate, to an accomplished master. It had almost no theory, history, or trivia on the Mind Arts like most manuals, focusing exclusively on mental exercise.

"Do you have any idea how valuable these books are, Black?" Lillian asked, staring at the copies as hungrily as Hermione. "This was written before the Doubling Charm or printing press were invented; I doubt even the Hogwarts library has a copy."

"Consider it a gift, though I suggest you copy as much of it as possible." She smiled a bit at Ron's disgruntled frown when handling the heavy book. "These are magical copies and won't last forever."

"You're serious about us learning to defend ourselves, aren't you?" Harry asked with an inscrutable expression on his face. Inscrutable, that was, for someone who wasn't his temporal twin, had known him for years, and had an improving grasp of Legilimency. Her little brother was very moved by this gesture, only he didn't quite know how to show his feelings after their recent distance and everyone else present. "Thank you, Iris. Really... though I am not sure if I'll have time for this over the summer."

"Oh you will." She said cryptically, and dismantled the secrecy spells on the room now that their last lesson for the year was over.

 **xxxx**

 _And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station._

 _It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles._  
 _"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you — I'll send you an owl."_  
 _"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to." People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:_  
 _"Bye, Harry!"_  
 _"See you, Potter!"_  
 _"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him._  
"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry. He then searched for Iris, but she was nowhere to be found and none of the dreaded Blacks were on the platform. Curious... but not curious enough to distract Harry from a scowling Uncle Vernon waiting for him as soon as he crossed the magical barrier. He was so preoccupied he didn't notice a very slight blur in the air as something almost entirely invisible and completely silent passed over his head.

Said something flew out of the station, took a few seconds to orient itself, and then launched itself forward at a frankly ridiculous acceleration. In less than six minutes, it was flying over a certain London suburb called Little Whinging with nobody the wiser. It took several more minutes to orient itself carefully and then the air seemed to shimmer momentarily before a large, heavy jar fell off out of apparently thin air. Less than a second later, the heavy jar crossed the mile-wide invisible bubble of defensive and revealing enchantments centered around Number 4 Privet Drive. Being entirely nonmagical and not intended as a threat against any living person, the heavy jar did not interact with them at all; it kept falling. Twenty seconds later, it crashed upon the neatly maintained house on Number 4, spilling over 40 pounds of oil and phosphorus that immediately set the small building on fire.

By the time the Dursleys and their errant nephew returned from London, the house had burned to the ground and all spells cast upon it had collapsed.


	38. A complicated decision

**This chapter was kicking my ass for over a week, along with the final details of the plot for second year. Sorry for taking so long, but my muse would not cooperate for the first scene. On the plus side, I do have a new title word for year two; complicated. You can hear Iris groan about it if you listen :) Also, the next chapter will be up tomorrow as it was mostly written.**

 **For those of you who love seeing our heroes in trouble, don't worry. Iris has a long, long way to go before she's out of trouble. About the subject of time-travel, Iris is the subject of at least origin paradox (the Potter child was born a boy this time around so she has no reason to exist), and causal paradox (if she fixes the past she'll have no reason to travel back in time as she did). Of course, that's from her own point of view. From the point of view of non-time-traveling observers, she appears in the timeline out of thin air along with all her possessions. Suspiciously like Conjuration, that. What's the answer to the chicken-egg question if you magically conjure the chicken?**

 **Disclaimer: do binding magical contracts play a major role one time in the series and then are never used again? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

The massive table in the dark room had stood empty for many decades before that night, for even a Noble and Most Ancient House would not use the artifact lightly. Twelve feet in diameter and one foot thick, supported by a pillar three feet in diameter and three feet tall, it was made of some silvery-white material with a light yellowish tint that was neither bronze nor gold, nor any other precious metal Sirius knew of. Grandfather Arcturus had easily carried it out of storage one-handed and brought it to the family War Room, but anyone other than the Head of the House would find it a bit harder to repeat that feat; the table resisted magic that was not its own as well as wizarding money and it naturally weighed forty-five tons, or as much as three times three times five prize bulls, as family tradition had it.

Also according to family tradition, it was meant to seat twelve; six men and six women. The members of the House present that night could not fill it to capacity thought the girls made an admirable effort, falling only a single seat short. In contrast, only Arcturus, Cygnus, and Sirius himself were there to balance the likes of Cassiopeia, Callidora, Cedrella, Bellatrix, and Iris. Sirius had come up against direr odds once or twice in his life, but never willingly. Why had he decided to reform and become a good and proper family member again?

"Are all here present blood of the family?" Arcturus demanded in a solemn voice with the tone of ritual in it.

"None would dare sit otherwise, Eldest." Callidora answered in a similar tone to Sirius' surprise. He'd have expected dear auntie Cassiopeia to provide the ritualistic response as the family's greatest expert in such magic. But perhaps... did the table itself demand the eldest male and female lead the ceremony?

"Then be seated and be measured and be not found wanting before the Balance, for without Balance there is only Death." The most important current members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black claimed their seats around the dull silvery-yellow disc of the table, the power of its enchantments pressing down upon them. To Sirius' great relief nobody died. His own hands were shaking as his doubts, his memories of past mistakes, all the inadequacies of his life came crashing down upon him from the dark corners of his mind. It felt much like the aura of despair dementors projected, except it focused not on his worst memories but on his personal failures. He refused to be crushed by the magic's judgement; his failures were his own and in the past. He could and would do better. A glance around the table showed him not everyone had fared as well. Grandfather's face was ashen, his eyes empty. Cassiopeia looked sad and resigned, Cedrella looked angry. Iris was gripping the table so hard her fingers were white and Sirius was surprised her teeth were still intact with how tightly her jaw clenched. Dear cousin Bellatrix lost her dinner in a mightily impressive mess. Only great aunt Callidora was calm and composed, reciting the next line of the ritual almost indifferently.

"Having faced yourself, be bound as family for as long as you claim a seat." The table's magic gripped Sirius as strongly as the hand of a giant and as lightly as the softest, most expensive bed he'd ever slept in. "There are no other loyalties among family, no duty to outsiders, no beliefs or morality set higher than kin. There are no positions above or below, no status or standing that matters, no opinions without worth. Thus you will speak and act tonight for as long as you are seated." The power of the Vow settled on Sirius and he sighed in relief; there were reasons such magic was not used more often in the wizarding world. He'd thought the Black Table hilariously misnamed when the artifact had been brought out of storage. Now, he wasn't so sure. For as long as he sat among family around it, all magic that went against the Vow he'd just taken was suppressed. According to Cassiopeia, the original creators of the Black Table had employed skills in metalworking and Alchemy that rivalled those of the goblins, knowledge of Arithmancy that exceeded that of anyone at the time, and shed their blood to make the enchantment both permanent and more powerful than any non-ritual magic so that their family could truly meet and interact in truth and trust. That the Black Table had fallen in disuse over the generations was an indication of how far the House of Black had fallen, she'd said.

"That was horrible." Iris mumbled once the ritual was done and they were free of its oppressive weight. It wasn't gone though, oh no. It was still there, waiting to strike them down like some unseen sword of Damocles should they fail to uphold the Vow they'd given.

"Well child, perhaps then you should have abstained from this council." Callidora said with a frown and Sirius smirked. If he dared call Iris a child he'd be on the receiving end of a major curse before he could blink. The eldest Black witch on the other hand could do so and only receive a rather cute sulky pout.

"Arcturus, it's high time you and Cassie explained." Cedrella all but demanded. "What's going on? What was that dreadful potion you sent us last Christmas and why have you called us back after all these decades?"

"You'd have preferred to be dead then, cousin?" The Black Patriarch asked dryly.

"Magically growing flowers in northern Lewis is not quite the grave, but I get your point." The apparently middle-aged witch shrugged. "The Weasleys and the Blacks seemed to have no need of my counsel or any desire to listen to their elders, and neither the Dark Lord's neo-luddites nor Dumbledore's libtards were to my liking. Since premature aging is a known family issue, I'd decided to live my last couple of decades quietly... until my least favourite cousin called upon me. What's all the fuss about, Arcturus?"

"Nothing much. We're only preparing to take over wizarding Britain." It was a testament to the kind of family the Blacks were that the old man's statement was met with neither ridicule nor surprise, but polite interest. "The way I see it, everyone else has had near half a century since Grindelwald's defeat to do with it as they would, and all they made was a huge mess. The number of surviving Houses has been reduced by a quarter, the Ministry is nothing but a house of corrupt bureaucrats making laws for their masters' benefit, new muggleborn children entering the wizarding world annually over the past twenty years has fallen to five, and Hogwarts is in danger of being stricken from the list of major magical institutions by the ICW due to its failing attendance numbers."

"And what would you have us do, Arcturus?" Callidora demanded. "This House doesn't have the power to become a third side on its own. If you're expecting Cedrella and I to exert influence over our families, you're smoking something you shouldn't. Or did you forget why my niece cast me out of Longbottom manor?" The glare Harfang Longbottom's wife sent at her great niece would rival a basilisk. Bellatrix averted her eyes instead of talking back. Was his cousin finally regretted her evil deeds, Sirius wondered? Naah. It was probably the Black Table's magic and fear of its backlash that stayed Bellatrix's retort.

"You'd be surprised." The old man said with a smirk much like Sirius' before a big prank. "You already suspect we've somehow retrieved the Philosopher's Stone. Consider it confirmed then. We are pushing the Malfoys and their allies economically, we're slowly building a large workforce whose primary loyalty will be this House, and we're undermining key figures in all three sides likely to oppose us."

"And how are 'we' doing that?" Cedrella asked. "Gold production in magical Europe and several countries beyond is controlled by the goblins so if any large quantities appear from nowhere the Stone's whereabouts will be tracked. The muggle world has tracking means as well, means the goblins keep an eye on. The Stone can be used to bolster us only so much without turning all other sides against us at once."

"Oh ye of little faith." Iris interjected, drawing every eye to her. "The new influx of Black wealth is not due to the Stone. I collected enough artefacts and precious materials over the past twenty-five years to jump-start our finances by selling them. Several of them present marketing opportunities too, such as the new line of brooms, while others are useful in a fight." She snorted. "And in case you were wondering, my forty-third birthday was two days ago."

"To answer your question cousins," Grandfather Arcturus continued with a frown at Iris for the interruption "...we don't want the two of you to influence your families. We have an overall coordinator and Wizengamot member in myself, Cassiopeia is researching our opponents and their magic, Sirius is running the company and networking among his own generation, especially the witches-"

"Hey!" Sirius called out in false indignation.

"Shut up grandson, you know it's true." The old goat had the gall (and the confidence, age difference, authority, and magical prowess) to say that with a wide smirk. "Bellatrix is training our people to both accept the possibility of war and fight in it without their knowledge, and Iris is our agent in Hogwarts and will attempt to turn the younger generation to our side." Presented like that their efforts so far seemed far more complete and well-planned than they actually were, Sirius knew. But if he was smart enough to realize that, the old biddies certainly were. And it had been what, a year? Given time and effort, they could go much further than that. "What we need is someone to contact the neutrals; those witches and wizards that stayed out of the previous war for various reasons, but especially because they no longer saw fighting as worth it. We also need someone to remind our old house mates and distant cousins to get off their collective backsides and act. We live twice as long as muggles on average so being ninety years old is no excuse for doing nothing."

"Not a bad strategy for a start." Callidora said, idly tapping a finger against her chin. "Tofty was telling us how bored he was last week, wasn't he sister?"

"You could convince him even if he wasn't." Cedrella nodded knowingly. "The old boy had the hots for you since... that nastiness in China before world war two, was it?"

"For that comment I'm leaving Marchbanks to you." Callidora retorted. "Aberforth too; he was always obstinate."

"Afraid of the old examiner are we? Why, if-"

"Ladies please!" Arcturus shouted, trying to break them up. He couldn't order them of course; all who sat around the Black Table were equals. Sirius barely managed to keep his laughter and snide remarks to himself.

"You're no fun, cousin." Cedrella accused the Black Patriarch. "Never were. But this plan of yours might be worth pursuing. Count me in."

"Count me in as well." Callidora agreed. "One question though; why would you want to control wizarding Britain? Preventing the existing sides from destroying it I can understand - but it could be done far more easily via political and economic means. Trying to defeat Malfoy, the Ministry, and Dumbledore all at once is just asking to be smacked down, no matter how good your plans. One little mistake is all it would take."

"Oh it's simple enough." Arcturus said, again with that knowing smirk. "We taking power is far better than the resurrected Dark Lord doing so instead."

Seeing the only two Blacks that hadn't been informed of that little detail gaping like that finally overcame Sirius' self-control and sent him into laughter.

 **xxxx**

"You have to be joking." Of all the inane, convoluted, doubtfully logical, mad in their genius plans Dumbledore had ever proposed this one took the cake... and he told him so.

"On the contrary, Severus." Said the ever-calm, morally superior, subtly condescending, holier-than-thou, infuriating old man. "Whatever your arguments, and I don't doubt for a moment that they are many, well-thought, and mostly sincere, Harry Potter spending his summer with you is the only solution. Our keeping him in Hogwarts these last few weeks has already placed him in terrible danger."

"What gave you that idea, Headmaster?" Severus Snape snarled. Not that any expression he might employ would do him any good. Intimidating Albus Dumbledore was beyond even the Dark Lord himself, let alone the rest of them mortals. "My boundless love for children perhaps? My instant connection to the boy? The friendly and close relationship I had with his family in the past? My attention being ensnared by Potter's emerging genius and predisposition to hard work and common sense? Was it our growing familiarity cultivated through common interests and goals?"

"Your skill as a Potions-Master, Severus." Dumbledore cut him off without even gesturing or raising his voice. The old warlock simply knew he would be listened to, and thus he was. "Without his mother's sacrifice protecting him, young Harry cannot be allowed to wander the world freely while wearing his face. You are the only one I would trust with both making the Polyjuice and hiding him from prying eyes."

"And what would happen should Lucius Malfoy or one of his friends come calling and stumble upon the Boy-Who-Lived?" Severus snorted. "I cannot continue my association with the targets you've assigned me with a bumbling dunderhead of a prophesied hero in my house!"

"That is precisely why I've taken the liberty of renting the empty house adjacent to your own in Spinner's End, in the name of a fictional muggle. Disguised as an adult muggle, mister Potter would pass entirely unnoticed but still live effectively under your protection and supervision. Should anyone come calling they will have neither reason nor means to search for him."

"Have you discussed this with the boy?" Severus snorted. "Wait, I momentarily forgot with whom I was speaking. No, of course you haven't. Why? Why do you insist on foisting these needless, thankless tasks upon me Dumbledore? The boy's protection is my duty but babying him until he outgrows his infantile deficiencies and becomes a reasonable adult will be as thankless as it is futile."

"Should we send him to his closest living magical relatives then, Severus?" The Headmaster's piercing blue eyes gave him a stare as penetrating as a Piercing Curse and as heavy as a mountain. They managed to simultaneously show a mentor's disappointment, measure him and find him wanting, and guilt him with his own most secret failures and hopes. "I dare say Narcissa Malfoy nee Black would be happy to have another son to dote on."

"Why not the Weasleys?" He half-heartedly countered. "The red-furred tiger would be even happier to take in a stray kitten, I reckon."

"The Burrow is not nearly as secure, Severus, and you know it. Whatever else he may be, Tom has always been a brilliant wizard. Should he search for young Harry, any defences I might conceive of are unlikely to prove impenetrable. It is secrecy, not force, that will avail us now."

"Then use the Fidelius Charm and keep anyone untrustworthy out of it, yours truly included."

"That I cannot do, Severus." The old wizard said sadly and suddenly seemed to have grown several decades. The aura of power and wisdom was gone, leaving behind just an old man. "Should Tom have reason to search for any magical secret concealing Harry Potter, I believe there is a chance he will find it. It is also the reason I have not notified Mister Potter of his new living arrangements and why you must take him directly to his new home via Apparition and ensure he takes the Polyjuice before he arrives and for as long as he stays."

Having no other viable arguments, Severus Snape left the Headmaster's office with a heavy heart, and a heavier mind. The former was only a cracked stone while the latter contained all the punishments he was already thinking of heaping on his new guest as a welcoming gift.

And he was still left with the certainly that there were key parts of the whole debacle the Headmaster had kept from him.


	39. A complicated meeting

**Another chapter and poor Harry's fate for the summer of '92 becomes clear. Kudos to Sebastian Palm for correctly guessing what the Black Table was made of. It is Palladium 108, with a density of exactly 12. The foot used is not the current Imperial or USC feet as the table predates them, but it's close enough. Bonus points to whoever guesses the table's origins. Dumbledore's plan for Harry actually was the safest for the boy and Dumbledore's goals both. His worry about the Malfoys was that with Narcissa's distant relation to Harry and their political power, they would be the ones to demand custody and get it with the Ministry's support. He is not worrying about the Blacks because neither the Malfoys nor his own allies would support them and the Black family has a much worse reputation than the Malfoys.**

 **Disclaimer: Was the Vanishing Cabinet only intentionally used once in the series despite the amazingly useful spells it had been enchanted with? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Chief Healer Andromeda Tonks was not having a good day.

Things had started as they always did in St. Mungo's; in near-total chaos. Not only were witches and wizards capable of the most unusual accidents imaginable thanks to their magic, they also possessed an attitude of invincibility totally out of proportion with their actual abilities. When a broken bone or a deep cut could be mended with the flick of a wand and the direst of everyday dangers could be magicked away, your fear of anything short of dark magic and dark creatures was dead and buried by the time you graduated. Unfortunately for the average wizard, the destructive power of even everyday magic when misused dwarfed that of any mundane threat, and for some reason Hogwarts did not cover magical accidents and catastrophes in most of its classes.

By far the most common cases beyond the skills of an average wizard to treat involved magical plants and creatures. From incompetents trying to make their own Floo powder, to idiots growing dangerous plants for profit in their gardens, to airhead housewives unable to deal with magical pests... the list went on and on. Almost as common was spell damage, usually the result of incorrectly applied Charms and Transfiguration. Cosmetic magic held the lion's share of the blame, from underage witches trying out dubious beauty charms published in Teen Witch Weekly, to supposedly mature witches and wizards incorrectly applying bodily enhancements. In Andromeda's opinion, those unable to cast Enlargement Charms correctly but still tried to apply them to themselves should be left untreated so they couldn't pass on their stupidity to the next generation. Her own daughter had tried something similar with her Metamorph talents as a teenager - once. After some motherly advice given with love, she'd never repeated the attempt until after she joined the Auror academy. Recreational magic was also as bad. At least once a day they had to treat a witch or wizard of a serious overdose of Cheering Charms, Calming Charms, or creative applications of the Confundus Charm, such as that couple spelling themselves to enjoy any kind of food, no matter how disgusting or unhealthy. Idiots. At least fear of the Dark Arts kept the average witch or wizard from using them in a similar manner. Andromeda still recalled using the _Imperius_ on herself to study or do her chores while feeling perfectly happy and not at all bored. It had been relatively harmless and landed her the position of Head Girl, but other family members had not been as fortunate.

"Healer Tonks, there's an old lady asking for you!" A mediwizard called out over the mad scramble of several Healers to handle two dozen rabid Quidditch fans who'd cursed each other over the Chudley Cannons' latest defeat. Professional Quidditch was yet another source of wizardly stupidity and work for Healers after all.

"Be right there, Roberts!" She replied, feeding some Restorative Draught to a dog-face Auror trainee who'd had a Polyjuice accident. Thank Merlin Potions accidents had slowly diminished in number over the past decade. Or rather, thank Severus Snape. The man's draconian teaching methods and utter unwillingness to coddle misbehaving or accident-prone students were slowly convincing the new generation not to experiment with Potions unless they absolutely knew what they were doing, not to make recreational use of Potions, not to attempt to brew their own Firewhiskey and so on and so forth. And while the number of applicants for new Healers had decreased significantly, they no longer had to turn down half of them for messing up a patient's medication with potentially lethal results. The Aurors had to be enjoying similar improvements; it had been four years since she'd had to treat one of them for trying to Polyjuice into a Veela for undercover work.

All critical cases dealt with for the moment, Andromeda went to find the old lady Roberts had told her about. At least she didn't have to deal with another parent that had tried to give their child wings again; botched Human Transfiguration was not easy to reverse. When she saw who was waiting for her however, she wished she'd had a dozen such cases instead of her current visitor. Andromeda Tonks approached the darkest member of the family she'd once belonged to with trepidation.

"Good evening, madam." She said with a credible attempt at civility. "How can I help you?"

"None of that codswallop now, girl." Cassiopeia Black retorted with an unladylike snort. "There's work to be done."

 **xxxx**

"No."

Arcturus Black raised an eyebrow at his grandniece's obstinacy. Cassiopeia rolled her eyes.

"Why not?" He asked in what he believed was a fairly tolerant tone. After having to deal with the rest of the Black family for nearly a century and especially in recent years, his patience had been forced to improve to almost Atlantean proportions, and he'd even managed to laugh at his grandson's antics more often than not. But this did not make much sense. "Is family not important to you? Don't you want to join our efforts in improving wizarding Britain?"

"Ruling it you mean? Let's be honest for once uncle, Blacks or not." The girl had the temerity to spit back. "As for family, it was precisely why I left in the first place. Or did you conveniently forget that you cast me out?"

"Did we? Last time I checked I was Head of House, and have never stopped being so." He sighed at how short-sighted the youngest generation of Blacks had been, at how he had mishandled the situation during the War. Was it the curse that had influenced him so, or merely the failings of an old man too proud to admit otherwise? "Why didn't you come to me when Walburga and Druella turned against you?"

"And you would do what, uncle? Enforce your will as Head of House on two members of the family over my marrying a muggleborn? Don't make me laugh." The young witch's sneer was so much like Cassiopeia's Arcturus knew he was not going to change her mind. "I am not going to return to a House that never loved or respected me."

SLAP!

Andromeda Tonks staggered by the force of the open-handed blow, delivered with deadly accuracy by her much older aunt. Unfortunately for the younger witch, Cassiopeia had drunk the Elixir of Life; while it might not halt old age without repeated use, it had restored her to peak physical condition for a witch her age. And a seventy-seven year old witch was barely middle-aged under normal circumstances. Fortunately for everyone involved, Cassie had used her hands instead of some obscure curse.

"If that's what you truly believe girl, then we don't want you back." The older witch proclaimed. "As if Tom Riddle's minions leaving you alone after your marriage was your doing. Blood protects blood no matter their differences - or they should."

"Not in my experience, auntie." Andromeda said, casting a healing charm on her reddening cheek. "You - all of you - failed to put a stop to Pollux's and Walburga's insanity, or my mother's sadistic tendencies. I see no reason to trust you again." With a small frown, she recast the healing charm. It worked no better the second time than it had the first; the red, hand-shaped mark on her cheek stubbornly refused to vanish.

"Don't waste your magic, girl." The older witch said, smirking. "I spelled my own hands long ago so that any wound dealt by them, or by a physical weapon held by them, would resist restorative magic and keep hurting until they healed naturally. The curse is of my own invention." She said with pride. "I call it 'Mother's Caress'."

"No wonder you never had children." Andromeda Tonks growled, conjuring some ice and applying it to her cheek. "If your dubiously enticing attempts to get me to rejoin your House were all you were here for, it's time you left. And never darken this hospital again with your presence."

"Unfortunately grandniece, we also require your services in a professional capacity." Arcturus spoke in a crisp, impersonal tone that belied his anger and shame at the girl's rejection. "You are a qualified Mind Healer, yes?"

"I had to be, uncle. The war half the family supported left behind too many victims for me not to." She looked at her two older relatives with suspicion. Some of the things her husband had shared about his employment as the Black Company's solicitor were both strange and familiar. But no, it couldn't be. Her eldest sister had died over five years ago, Merlin let her black soul find the peace in death she had not in life. "I don't suppose one of you has decided to finally treat your many mental issues then? Because I'd... enjoy helping you."

"Alas we must decline your polite offer, young lady." Arcturus shot back, knowing the phrase would annoy the much younger woman. It was not a phrase one would use for a married, successfully employed witch with an adult daughter, after all. "We seek healing not for ourselves, but for an underage member of the House."

"What?" Take that, you obstinate, ungrateful, short-sighed woman. The old forms of requesting aid from one who'd taken the Healer's Oath meant she could not refuse to help them or pass the case to another Healer if they had genuine need and she was the best to deal with it. And who better to help a magically-de-aged witch with far too many secrets than a family member that knew how to handle the most unruly of children? Arcturus had checked Nymphadora Tonks' detention record out of curiosity, and had found Sirius' indignant shouts that his younger cousin had beaten him at his own game highly amusing.

"Indeed Healer. A daughter of the House of Black not of age to decide on her own is entrusted to your care."

Andromeda Tonks' loud cursing was just as amusing as Sirius' had been.

 **xxxx**

Cokeworth was not a town, but a midden. Chilly mist drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up in the distance, shadowy and ominous. Row upon row of box-shaped, dilapidated structures of crumbling brick and mortar extended as far as the eye could see in such limited visibility, structures that only in the fevered, opium-fuelled imagination of a madman could be called proper houses. There was no sound apart from the whisper of the black water and no sign of life apart from the dozens of rats scurrying upon the mountains of refuse, searching for something to eat. Iris wished them luck. They'd need it to survive what poisoned, polluted sustenance they could find in such a dismal place.

Invisible and inaudible under the Cloak of Invisibility and a dozen secrecy charms, she rode her broom over the twisted skeletons of old roofs long since collapsed from lack of maintenance and humidity, past boarded-up houses full of squatters and more rats, across streets so full of potholes and cracks they hardly warranted the name. She could see Severus Snape growing up in this place; it fit his personality like a glove. Petunia Dursley too. Lily Potter, her beloved mother, not so much. As she flew closer and closer to her destination over her custom broom, the neighbourhoods became slightly less dismal, the streets more well-maintained, the houses less ruined, and she sighed in relief. It wasn't as bad as she'd initially believed then. Her mood not as foul as it had been, she landed on her destination; Spinner's End.

Remaining hidden and magically concealed, she approached the two houses at the end of the narrow, lightless street. Avoiding the one on the right - she got more than enough of Severus Snape in her Potions class and had no desire to meet him now - she walked up to the slightly smaller but better maintained two-story building and drew two small sweets from an inner pocket. A couple of swallows later, she had the shape of a bat and the size of a small bee; perfect to fly through the keyhole with. With her possessions melding into her new form and still under cover of all those secrecy charms, she flew to the house's upper floor to the large but mostly empty study room. She paid the current occupant and his labouring over a dull second year Potions textbook no heed for the moment; she had work to do.

A few minutes of waiting later, she was back in her proper size, form, and clothing. Out of that same inner pocket she took out a small stone the size of her thumbnail and dropped it in an empty corner of the study room. There it twisted and flickered, the very complex bit of Transfiguration she'd used on it before coming here fading away to leave behind a cabinet of black wood large enough for a couple of people to stand upright inside. At least that was what Iris' eyes saw. Thanks to some additional spellwork, anyone else would initially see the small stone and then nothing at all. Her task done, Iris carefully altered her secrecy charms to key in another person without having to recast them. It was slow going; spell modification had never been her strongest point and much of the hard-earned ability of her past life had been erased by her trip back in time. But after six years of hard work, she'd regained enough skill for it... barely. Ten minutes for what would take future-Hermione a mere twenty seconds at worst was not exactly good time.

"Hello Harry!" She cheerfully greeted the middle-aged, blond, slightly overweight man as she dropped the Cloak of Invisibility. The room's other occupant literally jumped off his chair, throwing books, notes, and half-completed homework all over the place. "Have you had a growth spurt? Because you're a couple of feet taller than last we met."

"Iris?" The study room's other occupant said gruffly once he'd gotten over his wide-eyed surprise. "What? How?! You can't be here!"

"Well, my friends and enemies did both say I had the tendency to appear where I was least expected." She said with a wide smile. "Could you keep your voice down though? I may be under selective secrecy charms that only let you hear and see me, but you have no such advantage and I'd rather Snape did not decide to join us."

"Snape!" The polyjuiced Harry Potter growled. "He's been giving me insane reading assignments and homework both here and in Hogwarts and shouting at me at the tiniest failure - it's Potions class all over again. Plus he's been feeding me some absolutely disgusting potion three times a day that turns me into this man and has cast some sort of spell that doesn't let me move further than fifty feet from the house." Totally ignoring his new size and increased strength, Harry grabbed Iris by the shoulders and shook her while he pleaded with her. "You have to help me Iris! Call grandma Cassiopeia, the Weasleys, the Ministry! Hell, I'd even take the Malfoys right now but I have to get out of here before I go insane!" Then, realizing how shaking the twelve-year-old girl into pieces wasn't going to get him any of that, Harry released her with much chagrin. Iris promptly collapsed in an undignified heap, any sense of balance destroyed.

"Morgana's tits, Harry." She groaned. "At least I didn't have dinner yet."

"Umm... sorry?" The polyjuiced face Harry was wearing went impressively crimson. Maybe they'd used some distant Weasley cousin as the template for the change?

"Don't worry about it." Rising up with some effort, she nodded at her temporal twin. "I'm here now so consider yourself saved and everything."

"Really?" Hope warred with disbelief in his expression, making her smile.

"Yes, really. Although..." She tapped her index finger against her lips, taking a distantly thoughtful expression. "Snape has you doing homework and learning magic that the Dursleys would have never let you do, and none of the many, many, many people who'd enjoy horribly murdering the Boy Who Lived will ever find you here; you don't even know where you are yourself. You are safe and becoming a better wizard, are you sure you want to leave?"

"Iris! How can you say that!" His wide-eyed incredulity and shock had her giggling in ten seconds flat. "I have to spend my holidays with Snape, of all people! Can you imagine anything worse?"

Iris didn't reply immediately, memories of living hungry, dirty, and bruised in a magical tent with only Hermione for company while the rest of wizarding Britain was under Voldemort's control surfacing in her mind. Memories of living alone in Number Four Grimmauld Place with Kreacher for company, a tear-covered photo of Sirius in her lap. Memories of the funerals after the Battle of Hogwarts, living in the half-ruined castle for the summer, helping with the restoration. Memories of many, many cold nights spent alone as wizarding Britain slowly collapsed. But hopefully, Harry would never have to live through those times.

"No Harry, I don't think I can imagine anything worse than living with Snape." She forced a smile into her face and she'd become a good enough actor over the years that even her temporal twin could not tell it was false. "Unfortunately, you cannot leave Snape's tender, loving care without having him, Dumbledore, and anyone they could get their hands on searching for you... not to mention the even stricter security you'd be subjected to in the future."

"So... what do we do?"

"Oh it's simple, Harry." She smiled and this time it was a bit more genuine. "The pair to the Vanishing Cabinet in Iris' room in Grimmauld Place stands in the upper floor study room, number seven Spinner's End, Cokeworth."

"How does that help?" Even in this disguise, Harry's mannerisms were the same, especially his "thoughtful contemplation" mode. Iris knew the expression well; it was her own, too. "And what's a Vanishing Cabinet?"

"Think about what I just told you, Harry." Iris instructed. That he did so was evident when his eyes widened in surprise once more. To him, the Vanishing Cabinet in the corner had only just appeared. "That is a Vanishing Cabinet. They were once used by witches and wizards as a method of escape and transportation, abandoned only because they were expensive to make and the spellwork on them really hard to replicate. This one can transport you to its match in my room and back as often as you want, with not even Dumbledore's strongest magic being able to track or block your movements. As it is also under the Fidelius Charm for as long as it is in this room, it cannot be detected by anyone that hasn't been told the secret; even if Dumbledore himself were here, he'd never even notice it." She pulled the dumbstruck polyjuiced wizard towards the artefact. "Let me show you how to use it and then we could meet as often as you wanted. You can't betray the secret to Snape either, even if he feeds you truth serum or tries to look into your mind."

This August was going to be awesome.


	40. A complicated mind

**Hey guys, long time no see. What I believed was a common cold two weeks ago turned out to be a far more serious case of the flu that prevented me from writing much of anything. I'm currently scrambling to catch up in all my stories - really sorry for the two week delay. A big thank you to Heika for catching that mistake about Iris' age in chapter 38.**

 **Clones of a person are not that person; they would have their own personality and soul, or none at all, thus they wouldn't be usable in the Regeneration Potion any more than a Polyjuiced person would have been. The shades brought back by powerful Priori Incantantem or the Resurrection Stone are not just echoes. For once, they had the will to act and displayed emotions and desires. For another, they knew things Harry didn't that they couldn't have learned while alive. Last but not least, they were like Voldemort's shade, and more than any ghost.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the goblins have a counter to both Polyjuice and the Imperius that they did not share with the other magical races? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"Get down here, old man!"

Harry rolled his eyes at Snape's command, carefully put down the heavy tome he'd been reading and checked the spine for any creaks or damage. _'Common Magic, Uncommon Solutions by Mia Dagworth'_ was one of the books Iris had lent him and an irate Snape did not hold a candle before his cousin in the rare cases she flew off the handle. It was an awesome book too; it had hundreds of little tips and tricks on how to use first to third year spells in dangerous situations, including more than one way to block the Killing Curse. Harry wondered if any Auror had ever read it, and if not, why-

"Now, old man! I don't have all day!"

Right, Snape. Keeping his Potions-Master and effectively his guardian for the summer waiting did not seem like a good idea so he scrambled down two flights of stairs, through the still dusty and mostly unused lower floor, a narrow, mouldy, windowless corridor, and then he finally reached the brass-bound front door. Panting and wheezing, he tried to catch his breath; the body he'd been polyjuiced into had not been meant for anything resembling exercise. Feeling Snape's glare even through the thick door, he drew his wand and tapped all ten deadbolts murmuring the Finishing Charm. They became almost imperceptibly smaller and Harry quickly drew them one by one and opened the heavy door with difficulty to reveal the ever-nasty expression of the Head of Slytherin.

"Finally!" Snape grumbled. "Were you any slower I'd be using you as a source of Streeler venom for Potions." Harry refrained from rolling his eyes again. Snape threatened to render him for materials several times a day and comparing him to a magical giant snail was hardly new. He probably gave him Polyjuice keyed to old muggles just to have an excuse to berate him for his slowness but Harry didn't care; he at least didn't have any chores to do beyond some extra homework. Snape wasn't big on house cleaning or personal hygiene - a nice change from his years with the Dursleys.

"Not my fault, son. Us old men ain't as fast or smart as we used to be." Snape sneered but refused to comment. It was all part of the charade after all, and his cousin's help in how to use it to mock the Potions Master without reprisal had been extensive. Though... what did Snape have against old men, he wondered.

"Indeed." The grease-haired man said. "I have some business to attend to today so I brought your... tonic a bit early. Make sure you take it on time if you don't want that arthritis to get any worse. And lock yourself in. I don't want the police to blame me if you get mugged and stabbed in your sleep, old man." With that, Snape handed over a vial of Polyjuice, turned around and walked away in the dark streets of Cokeworth, not waiting for a reply.

Now, that was odd... what business did a Potions Master have that couldn't be done via mail order? Harry shrugged and renewed the engorgement and sticking charms on all ten deadbolts. It was one of the tricks he'd found in his new book; the door wasn't technically locked so it couldn't be unlocked, no matter how powerful an unlocking charm one used. Snape had grudgingly approved of the idea, even if it locked him outside as well. The next charm Harry cast took him nearly five minutes to get right, but it was necessary; the listening spell would both warn him of visitors and Snape if the Potions Master had to return early.

Preparations complete, Harry made a beeline for the Vanishing Cabinet in his study. Less than a minute later, he was in Iris' cavernous room in the Black Manor. At least the room looked enormous in Harry's eyes; it was at least as large as the Dursleys' entire ground floor had been and both cleaner and far more impressive. Silver and black marble made up the massive four-poser bed's frame, the bookcases and cabinets that took up two of the walls, and most of the private bath extension reachable from a small door in the back. That it had a skulls and snakes motif did nothing to detract from the decorations' awe-inspiring opulence and majesty.

Portraits looked down on the intruder disapprovingly as Harry quashed his brief flares of envy to reach for a potions cabinet his cousin had left for his own use. It was full of emergency supplies and carefully labelled healing potions, including more than a few bezoars, as well as a large spray bottle full of what looked like water. It wasn't, of course. Harry picked up the bottle and sprayed himself in the face a couple of times. It was wet and annoying but a few seconds later he'd returned to his original, twelve-year old form, the Polyjuice effect on his body and the enlargement spell on his clothes ending hours ahead of schedule. The vial was proof that Snape and Dumbledore did not know everything; according to Iris, the contents could counter not only Polyjuice but most other magical forms of concealment, deception, or influence... including the Imperius Curse.

"Iris, are you here?" he called out, trying to comb through his unruly hair with both fingers and magic to little effect. With potions to alter one's entire body or control the mind, he'd expected at least one brew that could help him with his hair to exist, but his cousin had not been as forthcoming on that subject. Girls were weird.

The door opened, and a tall, black-haired wizard with the same aristocratic bearing and harsh beauty as Iris walked in. He was tall - at least as tall as Harry expected to become by the time he finished his education in Hogwarts - with broad shoulders, long limbs, grey eyes, and an easy smile. He didn't seem threatening, but Harry reached for his wand anyway. Quirrel had not seemed threatening either.

"Hi there, pup." The wizard said, eyes gleaming with mirth. "A bit young aren't you, to be in a lady's bedroom?"

"I was invited!" Harry protested, even as his cheeks -his whole face- went crimson. The stranger laughed.

"Really? You must be quite the ladies' man then. My female cousins would never invite most men in their chambers, or be invited by them either. They'd boldly go wherever they wished unannounced." He laughed loudly. It reminded Harry of a large dog's bark. "Poor me, I managed to end up with four of them."

"I..." Harry was at a loss of words. He audibly swallowed, tried to stop his wand from shaking and speak anew. A safe subject... he needed to find something mundane, not embarassing, with nothing to do with girls. Luckily, his manners provided a possibility. "I'm Harry Potter, sir. Pleased to meet you." The stranger shook his offered hand and smiled at him again, though his expression oddly fell. He seemed a bit... sad? That couldn't be right.

"Pleased to meet you, Harry." The older wizard said. "I am Iris' older, funnier cousin. Call me Padfoot - Merlin knows she does. Now let's find something else to do before dear Auntie Cassiopeia finds us shaking hands."

"What's wrong with shaking hands?" Harry asked, confused.

"Nothing, unless you're a female member of the Black family." Padfoot said airily, and then smirked. "If you were, you'd now be thinking of invisible cursed gloves and undetectable contact poisons to which you'd already taken an antidote to." He laughed out loud once more. "Word of warning, Harry; witches are dangerous. Better not to appear unannounced in their bedrooms before your sixteenth birthday or so, hey?"

He winked. Harry blushed hugely once more. This Padfoot guy was funny, but strange; he didn't look much like a Padfoot either. Were all of Iris' relatives so unusual? Before he found a satisfactory answer to that question, Padfoot was already dragging him away to see the more... interesting sights of the House of Black.

 **xxxx**

 _"The last enemy to be destroyed is Death"_

Severus Snape looked at that inscription with contempt. Trust Dumbledore to write something so religious, sentimental, and ultimately ambiguous on Lily's and that bastard's final resting place. Did mankind have a hope of deliverance from Death in the future? Was Death, as Dumbledore senilely insisted, just the next great adventure? Did people have to accept Death, their very descent to oblivion, so it would no longer be their enemy? Or was there a way to overcome Death with magic, as the Dark Lord had always claimed? The bitter ex-Death Eater repeatedly punched the cold, uncaring stone right where the bastard's name was carved upon it. It didn't yield, of course; his knuckles just became raw and bloody. Severus Snape deserved the pain. In fact, he deserved far more, for too many reasons to count. Today had just added to his failures.

For someone competent in both Potions and the Mind Arts it was not difficult at all to sneak into the Ministry of Magic. Polyjuice, Unctuous Unction, Legilimency, Occlumency and Secrecy Charms meant that the brief abduction and impersonation of a Ministry employee had gone off perfectly. Even if the Ministry had used the kind of security questions and signals employed by secret organizations, and had been built in a cellular structure, it would not have helped as the abducted magical maintenance worker had told all about the Ministry's security checks to his new best friend, with all the facts confirmed via Mind Arts. Even Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix was not immune to infiltration. The only organization that was were the Death Eaters, of course, thanks to the Dark Mark. It could not be copied, moved, or altered as far as Severus knew, and allowed the Dark Lord to both locate and recognize his followers from any distance, among its many other abilities. The only way anyone could get eyes and ears within the Death Eaters was if one defected, and the only way the defector would not be discovered was if the Dark Lord himself had ordered them to pretend to defect.

Despite his efforts, he'd failed to find any clues on the wand's whereabouts. Since he'd been given that book on Necromancy and subsequently questioned Ollivander on the brother wands effect over a cup of potions-laced firewhiskey and some subtle Mind Magic, he'd hoped to use the Dark Lord's wand and the brat to help him see Lily one last time. Potter would not say no to speaking to his mother, of course; it was another reason he'd agreed to put up with his infantile sense of righteousness and entitlement, not to mention the boy's Potter looks. But the Ministry archives made no mention of the wand at all. Merlin's saggy arse, they barely made any mention of the Dark Lord himself about that Halloween. All they said was he'd been "vanquished". What the bloody Hell did that mean? They didn't even have evidence of his attacking the Potters at all that night, let alone that he was dead as they claimed. The only statement about the Dark Lord's attack had come from the Lestranges during their trial and that was by no means proof. Everything else was guesswork and hearsay and while the Order easily trusted Dumbledore enough to take his words as gospel, that did not explain how the Ministry insisted on what they supposedly knew. And none of it would help him find the wand.

As far as Severus Snape knew, he, Hagrid, and the dog had been the only ones to visit the scene before the Aurors. Hagrid had found no wand, the dog had not entered the ruined house, and he was searching for the wand still. So who had taken the wand before them? How had they gone undetected? How did they even know to appear there before Snape, Dumbledore's man, and the traitorous dog had?

He was going to find answer to those questions, or the Ministry was going to find some corpses made very dead through untraceable, nigh-incurable poisons.

 **xxxx**

In another life, Iris and Andromeda Tonks had had a complicated relationship. On one hand, Iris had been Teddy's godmother, had loved the little shapeshifting tyke, and helped to raise him as often as she could. On the other hand, the Tonkses had never wanted to be involved in the war, and had tried their best to stay out of it. Nymphadora Tonks, one of the few pre-war Aurors Iris had respected and looked up to as a teenager, had fought with her parents many times on that very subject. Andromeda had ended up being right, to her sorrow; both her husband and her daughter had died in the last year of the war along with her son-in-law Remus Lupin. All they'd left behind was their infant son and a heartbroken parent old and bitter before her years. The last surviving and outcast member of House Black had never forgiven the few surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, or truly rejoined wizarding Britain. For the two dozen years Iris had known her after the Battle of Hogwarts, the older witch had never set foot outside the little cottage by the sea and its grounds still protected by the Fidelius Charm.

Facing the middle Black sister now Iris could see hints of the same bitterness, but they were dwarfed by the iron will and unshakable confidence of one of St. Mungo's most experienced Healers and someone who had butted heads with most of the Black family as a teenager... and still gotten her way in the end. In a way, Andromeda Tonks was a person Iris would look up to now much as she had her daughter in another life... which made lying to the other witch significantly more complicated.

 _"Legilimens!"_

Basic Occlumency techniques might include building mental walls to deny attackers entry, creating false memories and emotions to confuse others, clever traps to delay or even hurt invaders, meditation techniques to order your thoughts, be aware of invaders, and control your responses. An intelligent, complex defense could confuse the average invader and delay them until they had no more patience or energy to continue. Ultimately however the primary tool mental conflicts were fought with was will, much like emotion was for spiritual ones. Snape's ignorance of the Horcrux-scar and the nature of her conflict with Voldemort aside, the former Death Eater's technique had been good enough. Provide her with the strongest possible reasons to want to repel the invader so that she'd put the greatest possible effort into it. That her instructor had thoroughly enjoyed mentally torturing her, hated her more than she'd hated anyone at that age, would have only made the exercise more effective if not for the Horcrux. In hindsight, both Dumbledore and Snape must have known Iris would be incapable to learn the easier, more complex form of Occlumency much as she'd never been very good in learning any magic by rote or through theory. After the war and the Horcrux's destruction, her different approach to magic had been one of hers and Hermione's sore points, after all.

 _Think of the pink elephant._ _Think of the pink elephant._ _Think of the pink elephant._

No, colour-changed pachyderms had nothing to do with Legilimency; that was only how Luna had described the more advanced Legilimency techniques. Beginner Legilimens invaded minds like a gang of robbers, trying to break through all opposition and get at what they wanted. More experienced practitioners could listen in on current thoughts and emotions and more slowly search through memories without being detected by most. Andromeda Tonks however was a Master; she simply willed Iris to think of an idea so she could see what memories it would bring up, then, taking hints of those memories, will her to think of associated ideas and thus associated memories. No breaking down mental walls, no sneaking deeper into the mind, not searching through memories real or false or having to deal with mental traps; simply have the victim think of what you wanted much like the muggle children's game instructing players not to think about the pink elephant. Were it not for the attempt using an incantation and Iris' own not inconsiderable experience with mind magic, she might have believed the train of thought to be her own. Which was, of course, the purpose of this session of mental healing; seeing Iris' experiences through Iris' own eyes, Iris' own train of thought so Healer Tonks would learn exactly what was wrong with the little girl sent to her care with the minimum amount of fuss and harm to the patient.

That could not be allowed to happen, for obvious reasons. Fortunately, unlike most muggle children, Iris could think only what she wanted to think under any circumstances. It was only as hard as thinking of the relaxing comfort of a warm bath while putting your hand into a cauldron of boiling healing potion. Details like faces, dates, even locations were blurred or altered even as Andromeda Tonks watched the memories in question, while the general events remained for her to witness. About an hour later, both Healer and patient got out of their respective trances and back into the real world.

Iris gritted her teeth against the barrage of familiar memories and planned the most gruesome ways to murder Arcturus Black and anyone else responsible for her having to undergo Mind Healing. Andromeda Tonks gritted her teeth against the barrage of foreign memories and planned the most gruesome ways to murder Arcturus Black and anyone else responsible for this child having to undergo Mind Healing.

"Those memories couldn't possibly have been real!" The older witch hissed angrily. "What are the Blacks playing at?"

"World domination, as always." Iris found humour in the face of insanity. "And I assure you they are very real, unfortunately."

"Nobody fights non-stop from their teens to their forties and survives unscathed." The older woman sighed. "I have treated Alastor Moody more than once. His one decade fighting in the last war and half a decade fighting against Grindelwald reduced him into an insomniac, imbalanced, paranoid recluse. Even if I bought Lord Black's story about your age regression, you would be either an inhuman psychopath or a near-catatonic wreck." She got up, packed her tools and potions with a deft flick of her wand and turned towards the door. "I do not know how it was done, but Lord Black must have tricked my bonds and vows as a Healer to formally request that I treat you. You have some mental trauma, yes, but hardly as extensive as they believe."

Iris felt suddenly, irrationally angry. Avoiding the mind-healing sessions was exactly what she'd wanted and here she had a ready-made excuse. But she'd just been forced to revisit some of her worst memories. Under another's control, perhaps, with their impact severely diminished but even so Andromeda Tonks' disbelief was the final straw that broke her iron grip on her emotions. Between one second and the next, Healer Tonks found herself pinned against the wall by an unseen force.

HARDLY EXTENSIVE, IS IT?

Facing Andromeda Tonks was no longer the twelve-year-old girl she'd been mentally examining a few moments ago. Hair swirling randomly in a phantom wind, body floating several feet off the ground, her patient was glaring at her with inhumanly large eyes, glowing yellow. The voice was both amplified and twisted, muscles and veins pounding under the small body's pale skin from the tension. Healer Tonks willed a silent Shield Charm through her wand attempting to block the girl's uncontrollable Accidental Magic. She'd faced wizards undergoing serious mental breakdowns before and it shouldn't be hard to...

NO.

Her Shield Charm was torn apart with almost contemptuous ease even as the pressure holding her against the wall increased tenfold. Her bones creaked ominously, her own magic working double time to protect her from being crushed. The walls of the little room begun to shake and crack. This was bad... there had only been one case of underage magic being both directed and this powerful in a traumatized person, one every Healer that knew of it was sworn to secrecy.

LET ME SHOW YOU WHAT YOU MISSED.

Yellow eyes glared at her from less than half a foot away. Had Ariana Dumbledore's eyes glowed like that as she killed her mother and destroyed her house at age fourteen? That was Andromeda Tonks' last thought before the screaming started.


	41. A complicated recovery

**I'm alive; the rumours of my death were rather exaggerated. Some of the plot points written before my recent illness seem a bit... bland to me now, and several chapters already written down that plot line felt unsatisfactory. I felt I had to rewrite part of the plot for second year; sorry for the delay everyone. Hopefully, I can add a little bit more mystery where the canon storyline is butchered by Iris' foreknowledge.**

 **Disclaimer: Was Harry ever taught any household magic during his years in Hogwarts despite it apparently being highly useful in any magical household? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"Two extra large chocolate chip ice creams with treacle tart flavour for the young lord and lady, one extra large vanilla and raspberry for their chaperone." The long-bearded, brown-haired, middle-aged wizard said with a smirk, handing over the gloriously huge desserts. Kept perfectly solid but not too cold via mild freezing charms, and with an engorgement charm that faded as soon as you swallowed ensuring one could enjoy a truly enormous dessert without fear of excess calories, Florian Fortescue's creations more than lived up to their name.

Harry was surprised and overjoyed at the treats and the brief escape from his indoors confinement, and rather overawed at the kind and quantity of sweets available to wizardkind. Having gone through said period of awe in a previous lifetime herself, Iris understood how Harry felt. Besides, her increased sensitivity to magic and knowledge of spells allowed her to appreciate the benefits of household magic in everyday life, even if her skill in it was rather abysmal.

"This... is absolutely perfect!" Harry shouted and took another bite out of the chocolate mound. "Dudley would kill for the taste, let alone the size. How could it possibly be so good?"

"Magic, pup." The middle-aged man with the light brown hair and green eyes said fondly. Iris snorted and rolled her eyes at Sirius' quip and decided to elaborate. Harry needed to know how magic applied to everyday life if he was to avoid struggling with it later like Iris had. Hogwarts' curriculum was even worse about it than it was about Muggle Studies.

"Padfoot is essentially correct, if brief. One can store perfectly fresh materials indefinitely by simply changing them to something inert. Preparing, mixing, and cleaning them can be done automatically with animation charms. Cooking at the exact right temperatures and times is easy if you can produce and control fire and heat." She smiled at her counterpart's dubious expression. "Witches and wizards can learn spells in days or weeks that can do more than a machine that costs months' worth of savings to a muggle. Besides, Mr. Fortescue doesn't only have more cooking options than any muggle chef could dream of; he probably invented a few potions to improve his products beyond what muggle science can do. The most obvious example of such improvements would be Every-Flavour Beans and the taste-altering charms they have."

"On the other hand, many witches and wizards don't bother with household magic." Sirius said oh-so innocently. "Why, some mix a few leftovers from last night's dinner, transfigure them in whatever food they'd like to taste, and call it a day. They sometimes forget to check if the leftovers are spoiled, which bites them in the backside when the transfigured food reverts to its original composition after they eat it." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, the arse, and it didn't take Harry very long to start laughing at Iris' expense.

"How hilarious." Iris mock-growled but then her expression cleared. "Speaking of food transfigurations Padfoot, remember the Midas Curse?"

"The one where the victim dies of starvation 'cause everything they try to eat or drink transforms to fake gold?" Her former Godfather idly scratched his magically altered mane of brown tresses. "What brought this up?"

"An old friend and I developed a nonlethal version years ago; it turned all food to slugs, similar to the Slug-Vomiting Curse." She smirked as the three of them made for Flourish and Blotts to buy hers and Harry's new textbooks for their second year. "Never had a chance to test it though. Would you like to be volunteered?"

"Come on, you two, break it up!" Harry said, laughing out loud. "Let's go find Ron and Hermione; they promised they'd meet us in the bookstore." With that, the young Gryffindor ran ahead. The two Blacks let him go; he deserved a bit of happiness. Besides, he was both disguised and Iris was holding a Blood Magic tracker and a heavy Shield Charm on him.

"Excitable tyke." Sirius commented, his tone wistful. "Reminds me of James at his age. If only..."

"Oh, not this again!" Iris complained before her cousin could even give voice to his worsening mood. "We've been over this a thousand times, Siri. None of it was your fault... or mine. It's all on Riddle and those that foolishly followed him. And we, the entire House of Black, will make sure history does not repeat itself."

"Maybe. It still hurts though." The physically older man laughed mirthlessly, sounding almost like a dog's mournful bark. "I don't understand how you can be so calm about it."

"Because being anything else is pointless." Iris lied. The memories still hurt - more than Sirius could possibly imagine. She had far more things to be regretful about than he ever did, Sirius' own death among them. Drawing more heavily on her Occlumency, she quashed the feeling brutally. She could feel whatever she wanted about any given topic, and regret was useful to no-one. "Come, Siri, enjoy the day. You can even amuse your captive audience with stories of Padfoot's silver tongue convincing old man Arcturus to give us a day away from his watchdogs."

"Huh." Sirius paused, his unnaturally green eyes fixed on the gathering crowd of witches and wizards without really seeing them. "I thought that was your doing, actually. Especially when aunt Cassiopeia suggested we vacate the premises, mumbling about her young people tolerance being exceeded."

"I didn't talk to them and they didn't talk to me." Iris denied as they started pushing through the line with mild aversion spells cast non-verbally. "In fact, they've been surprisingly tight-lipped since the incident."

"Ah yes, the famous incident." Sirius chuckled. "Rumour has it that Andi annoyed you and you nearly blew up St. Mungo's; Bella was thoroughly amused when she told me. What happened, exactly?"

"I am not sure." Iris replied slowly. The question had plagued her the past few days, but no answer was forthcoming. Her older relatives were avoiding the subject for some reason, and actual information was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Sirius had an idea? "I don't quite remember, you know." She admitted, hoping her ex-godfather had some idea.

"What do you mean you can't remember?" Apparently not.

"Exactly that, Siri." Iris sighed. "I don't have any memories of the event, not even with Occlumency. Everything before waking up in Grimmauld Place three days later is a blank and nobody wants to explain. They're behaving oddly, too."

"You're right. Old man Arcturus would never have approved this little get-together with Harry, especially since I'm supposed to be dead." He twisted his long hair around a finger, an expression of intense concentration making even his disguised face hard and distant. "We Blacks are weird, cousin. You should know that, being one yourself. Maybe you were memory-charmed? Wouldn't be the first time Mind Magic played a part in the family's plans."

"Memory-charming an Occlumens doesn't work, not unless you're willing to cause lasting mental damage." She considered the possibilities but didn't get anywhere; not enough information. "I should know; I've used the spells on Snape."

"Really?" A childish smirk appeared on her ex-godfather's face, half-banishing his worries. "I'd like to know that story sometime. For now... do you want me to dig into it? Bella might know something we don't."

"I don't know... this whole situation is fishy. It is as if the rest of the family is trying to keep us out of the family business." Which was decidedly odd. Not only did the Blacks have no problems with using family members to promote the interests of the House, but many of the family's current plans were put into motion by Iris' actions to begin with!

"Well, if you do decide let ol' Padfoot know." Sirius said and winked at her. "Now let's go save my godson from Lockhart's fans."

"Lockhart's fans?!" Iris stared at the huge crowd of people around Flourish and Blotts that had practically swallowed her temporal alternate. Merlin, she'd all but forgotten about Lockhart's book-signing or his getting the Defense position in Hogwarts! And there was a certain Diary to deal with, too...

 **xxxx**

"Don't pout dear. It's hardly becoming of someone of your station." Narcissa Malfoy told her husband. Her healing spells had taken care of most of his scrapes and bruises from his latest idiotic escapade... except for this rather persistent black eye. She considered for the umpteenth time whether to deliver an impressive tongue-lashing but once again decided against it. Lucius must have had his reasons for engaging in Muggle Dueling with Arthur Weasley of all people, even if she could not see them. On the other hand, he'd better explain or he'd wake up after a sudden and inexplicable unconsciousness to at least _four_ black eyes; human Tansfiguration was so very good in expressing one's... displeasure.

"Arthur Weasley and his misbegotten horde of redhead brats!" Lucius growled when the healing ointment his wife was spreading over this most recent indignity stung a bit more than expected. "But he'll get his just desserts soon enough; I've made sure of it."

"Are you sure you should be engaging Weasley now, Lucius?" Narcissa asked with some worry. "The Blacks are proving to be a greater danger."

"They are, are they?" He chuckled and patted her cheek fondly; she'd always been a worry wart. "Don't be alarmed by our recent setbacks; the Blacks have actually overreached themselves in their attempts to corner the market. My contacts in Gringotts assured me Arcturus doesn't have the capital to solidify his position before every other faction unites against him to defend the former status quo and their profits."

"This goes beyond merely economic warfare, husband." Narcissa commented shrewdly. The two of them were alone in the vast and impressive Malfoy manor; they could afford to talk openly for once. "You're entirely too smug every time the Blacks or the Weasleys are brought up, especially when you bring them up yourself."

"Indeed? Perhaps you just know me too well, dear." His smile widened, becoming decidedly nasty. "Let's just say the Weasleys will soon realize what Dark Magic is capable of... and the Blacks will take the blame for it."

"You never were the best of actors, husband." She cautioned him as she often did about his wilder schemes. "Even a student could tell something was off about your performance in Flourish and Blotts this morning if they looked hard enough. If someone puts two and two together..."

"They'll blame the Blacks, of course. The... instrument did bear the Blacks' particular brand of magic in its aura and everybody knows how law-abiding we Malfoys are. Why, we give so many Galleons to charities every year." He chuckled and kissed his wife on the cheek, easing her worries with words and deeds. "Who would suspect us upstanding citizens when a more convenient target is available?"

"Dumbledore's block do see the Blacks' rising power at least as alarming as we do, but I don't trust this turn of events." Narcissa applied the bruise-removing paste for the fourth time and tried some healing magic too. "One miscalculation and the Blacks and Dumbledore's minions might unite against us."

"It will never happen; those muggle-loving fools hate all things Dark and the Blacks are as Dark as they come." Lucius snorted. "Arthur Weasley would never lower himself to using dark magic, no matter how desperate he might be. Dumbledore's little Order will oppose the Blacks at the first sign they're trying to regain their power by all means - which just shows how stupid they are. By the time they have evidence, the Blacks will be well on their way to overwhelming them... which will be when we'll strike."

"Funny you should mention that, love." Narcissa said drily, finally lowering her wand and Potions kit. "The black eye Weasley gave you? It's been subtly cursed to resist all forms of healing. The curse is powerful, too; just beyond my ability to lift. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider your plans?"

 **xxxx**

"Severus?" Albus Dumbledore asked rhetorically as soon as Snape Flooed into his office. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on young Harry?"

"The brat is safe enough for the time being, both behind defensive enchantments and a magical disguise." Snape said, ignoring the Headmaster's disapproving expression for once. "And this could not wait."

"Really?" The ancient sorcerer wondered. "Intriguing, if true. What could bring you here during the summer, Severus, cutting short your precious research time?"

"More research." The Potions Master said drily, his uneven teeth forming a not-so-charming smile. "Whatever happened to the Dark Lord's wand in Halloween of '81?"

"What brought this up?" Almost immediately, the Headmaster's genial and honestly curious expression turned cold and distant and unreadable. "Especially after all these years, Severus."

"Its not being mentioned for those same years." Severus Snape said with his usual sneer, one he hardly ever used in his private conversations with the Headmaster. If not for an anonymous Christmas gift of a rare treatise on dark magic and immortality, he'd never have realized the discrepancy, which was odd in itself. Add a brief conversation with Ollivander after a couple of Firewhiskey shots and odd went straight through interesting and all the way to suspicious. "How come the Dark Lord's... remains were identified if his body was gone but for an empty cloak and robes, and his wand was never found? The Ministry has no record of it - I checked."

"Magical residue on the scene and his presence being registered by both the house's magic and the Trace on Harry picking up Killing Curses of a power only very few wizards would have been capable of and only one of which would have reason to cast. The Trace working at all was what informed the Ministry the Fidelius had collapsed, as well as what notified them Harry survived the Killing Curse. Cast from a distance of a mere five feet as the Trace picked up, it couldn't have missed."

"I see." Dumbledore was far too accommodating of his questioning, Severus was sure of it. There was something odd going on... maybe... ah, this could be it. "Did the Trace pick up any more magic before Hagrid's arrival then? Because Hagrid did not find the Dark Lord's wand either, and the dog did not enter the house that night."

"No, it did not." Dumbledore said with a frown. "Why this sudden interest in Tom's wand? Why now?"

"It's a personal project." Snape responded with another sneer. "If it was not removed from the scene magically, and none of those we know were present physically removed it, what happened? Did it, too, melt away like the Dark Lord's body?"

"I do not believe so." The Headmaster's expression shifted from cold indifference to mild worry. "What are you insinuating, Severus?"

"A third party removed it, Dumbledore. Nothing else fits." The older wizard had already guessed as much, of course. Sometimes Dumbledore's apparent infallibility and ability to make accurate guesses on very little evidence grated on Severus Snape's nerves. The other man's single failure ever he could not use against him, for it was far more his own than anybody else's. "And if they knew to be at the cottage almost immediately without the Ministry registering magical travel..."

"That is a very interesting theory, Severus." The ancient wizard was once again the epitome of tranquillity. "You've yet to explain why the wand is so important to my satisfaction, though."

"Right." Snape said curtly, both annoyed and exasperated at all the secrecy and twisted words for the first time. "I had a talk with Ollivander."

"Ah."

"Yes, Dumbledore, ah." It wasn't Snape's own reason for wanting to uncover that wand's whereabouts. It couldn't be. But it could be a reason the Headmaster would believe. It wasn't as if the older man had not used this technique on Snape (and everybody else) before. "Brother wands. You cannot claim that isn't important!"

"I must admit the issue of the wand always troubled me, though no answer was ever forthcoming." Albus Dumbledore finally confirmed. "It was, perhaps, the first sign that Lord Voldemort did not truly die that night... for had he perished, his wand would have been of little practical use to anyone who had not defeated him and claimed its allegiance. My best guess is that Voldemort himself or one of his closest followers ensured it would not fall into the hands of the Ministry. It is one of the many questions I would have liked to ask of mister Black, but Bartemius Crouch thought otherwise. Alas, with him and Bellatrix long dead there are no answers to be found."

Snape doubted that. Someone knew; they had sent him the book with that obscure lore about shades and _Priori Incantantem_ , knowing it would draw his attention. He was beginning to suspect they'd even directed his entire search effort to have him ask these questions in the end. The real questions were who, and why, and Severus Snape would not rest before he found the answers.


End file.
